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Youngest Soldier 


The Grand Arm^e. 

v/ 

, BY FORTUNE DU BOISGOBEY. 


CHICAGO: 


S-i 


Mobbill, Higgins & Co. 



CONTENTS. 


CHAP. PAGE 

I. The Raid of the Red Hussars 9 

II. Steel and Brass 34 

III. In the Imperial Presence 47 

IV. The Military Fop 57 

V. The Scout and the Chase 72 

VI. All’s Fair in War 84 

VII. The Report 105 

VIII. The First Battle.^ 123 

IX. A Strange Chariot * 137 

X. The Wounded 149 

XI. The Little Drummer Reappears 159 

XII. The Exploits of Cocagne 165 

XIII. “Generous as a Prince” 180 

XIV. An Amiable Captor 191 

XV. The Deliverance 210 

XVI. The Hero in Spite of Himself 221 

XVII. A Poor Excuse is Better Than None.... 234 

XVIII. Prisoners, in a New Light 252 

XIX. It is Sometimes Good to Have a Master, 264 

XX. The Cantineer of the Irregulars 284 

XXL The Betrayer * 296 

XXII. “Obey Orders]” 314 

XXIII. The Angel of Justice 325 



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CHAPTER I. 


THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 

On the 28th of January, 1814, three cavalry sol- 
diers were riding at a walking gait up the wooded 
hill between Brienne and St. Dizier, in the Cham- 
pagne country of France, then a deserted tract. A 
deep vale was hollowed out beneath the leafless 
trees edging the left side of the road. It was 
gloomy weather, and the morning mist decorated 
the meadows with gray plumes, between which 
might be caught a glimpse of a village church 
steeple here and there. On the right hand a thick 
hedge bounded the sight. 

For several days it had been freezing, and the 
stony ground rang sharply under the horses’ shoes. 
This was the only sound disturbing the stillness of 
the solitude, for the troopers rode on without speak- 
ing. 

The ample snowy mantles which draped them 
from head to boot allowed nothing to-be seen but 
the bright brazen helmets and the polished steel 
scabbard-tip of their sabers. 

Bowed forward in their saddles, they made their 
way but slowly against an icy wind lashing their 
faces. Their wearied bearing and their fagged 

chargers’ pace revealed that their duty was an ardu- 
9 


10 


THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 


ous one. It was not the gait of victors, and this 
squad of mute riders was as mournful as the land- 
scape. The breeze brought none of the sounds fol- 
lowing armies, such as the dull rumble of artillery 
caissons, and the flourishes of bugles with their time 
marked by the drum taps; and yet it was plain that 
war had swept over this desolate spot. Indeed, the 
soil was strewn with rags of uniforms, smashed knap- 
sacks, and cast horse-shoes, but no corpses or 
wounded stragglers were visible. 

The three had reached the last turn of the high- 
way when the muffled report of a musket rose from 
the valley bottom. 

‘‘Halt!” the central rider ordered in a curt voice. 

All drew rein and the steeds snorted while their 
masters stretched their necks the better to listen. 
Three or four detonations followed the isolated one 
almost immediately; then, the sounds became con- 
tinuous. It was like the pelting of hail on a roof, 
and the volleys were readily distinguished from the 
firing at will. 

“There's our army!” exclaimed the horseman on 
the right, rising in his stirrups and getting his horse 
well in hand. % 

“Do you think so, youngster?” calmly asked the 
first speaker. 

“Why, captain, you must have heard that firing?” 

“I hear it clearly, and that is just why I am sure 
you are at fault.” Turning to his comrade on his 
left, he said, in his tone of command: “Ratibal!” 

“Present, captain!” 


THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 


II 


“Dismount; enter the wood to its skirt, doing 
your best to see what goes on without being espied; 
return to report.'* 

“Right," answered the trooper, leaving his horse 
and gliding into the copse. 

The rider on the captain's sword-hand quivered 
in his seat, as though it fretted him to have to keep 
still. He was a handsome youth in his seventeenth 
year or little more, whose finely cut, regular features 
were half concealed by the visor and strap of his 
dragoon's casque. His complexion was fresh, like 
that of one reared under frigid skies, and his eyes 
were blue. As yet his moustache had not shown 
itself even in down. With these rosy cheeks and 
his cherubic air, spite of some length of limb, he 
suggested a boy playing at soldier. 

“So my young gentleman, you fancy that we 
have dropped on our division in this abrupt style 
and that all I have to do is to command: ‘Fall in 
by twos; forward, march; walk, trot!'" 

The speaker of this ironical professional jest 
offered a striking contrast to the novice, as he was 
one of those veterans whose age cannot be pro- 
nounced upon; in other words, his bright eyes and 
grizzled locks might as well belong to a vigorous 
warrior of thirty-five as to an old war dog of nearer 
fifty. His tanned skin had braved all the tempests 
the French army had faced for fifteen years, from 
Nile sands to the Vistula's clay banks, and it was 
hard to decide whether Russian snow or Egyptian 
sun had most hardened the energetic visage. He 


12 


THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS, 


eyed the beginner with a jeering smile which dis- 
closed his white teeth, and his moustache bristled. 

'‘But, captain, the firing is growing hotter,*' 
almost timidly ventured the beardless soldier. 

“Cornet Albert Boissier,” spoke the veteran, “I 
am going to give you a practical lesson in the mili- 
tary art. It cannot do you any harm, as your ex- 
perience of warfare was on the worst side and 
against those savages, the Muscovites, though it was 
taken in consideration by his Majesty the Emperor, 
when he allowed you to pass through the College of 
St. Cyr without requiring the tests which other 
budding generals have to suffer." 

Experience, and a boy of seventeen? Yes, and 
remarkable, too. Albert was the only son of a 
lieutenant-colonel of Grenadiers of the Guard, who 
had become colonel after the victory of Smolensko 
in August, 1812, and would have been farther pro- 
moted but for his dying of wounds received in the 
subsequent victory of the Borodino. His wife was 
an Austrian lady of high birth, whose acquaintance 
he had formed in Italy when he was a young officer 
attending Napoleon at the rising of his “star," of 
which he foresaw the splendor; and she, though her 
father fell in the opposite ranks, was also bewitched 
by the young conqueror, and became his fervent ad- 
mirer. To be nearer her husband, and to participate 
in the rejoicings confidently expected to await the 
Grande Armee in the realm of the Czar, she traveled, 
in the autumn of 1812, through Poland, and on hear- 
ing that the victories on the road to Moscow had 




THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 


13 


apparently cleared the way to the emperor's ulti- 
mate triumph, she lavished from a full purse for a 
sledge with fine horses, and an escort of Russ-hating 
Polanders, to be transported with her son, Albert, 
to be the first to figure in the court which the victor 
would hold in the halls of the Czars. 

Alas! the flames of Moscow, burned by the pa- 
triots, consumed her evanescent dream. She arrived 
too late even to see her husband, dead from glorious 
wounds, and began, with the wrecked army, that re- 
treat which scarcely another lady shared. 

Woe upon woe befell her. A rich contractor’s 
escort requisitioned her horses ; the Polanders 
had been pressed into the army service ; she was 
^ butchered by the marauders who harassed the rear 
of the fleeing forces, though the Cossacks harried 
1 them and stole their crime-stained plunder. Her 

boy shared her hourly apprehensions, had to wield 
ij sword and pistol for her defense and his own, and 

t was flung, after a final encounter, in which she dis- 

t appeared in the snowdrifts, on the embers of their 

^ bivouac to roast or be smothered by the snow, which 

luckily extinguished it. He was found, grief-stricken 
and exhausted, by a band of stragglers of his father’s 
regiment, and accompanied them, when rallied to 
Marshal Key’s rear-guard, to the melancholy cross- 
ing of the frontier. Moscow was fired in the middle 
of September, and the ignominious retreat was begun 
in a month after. Albert, adopted by the Grena- 
diers, was not allowed from his tender years to be 
retained by the veterans. Nevertheless, his father’s 


14 the raid of the RgD HUSSARS. 

brother-officers would not suffer him to be checked 
in the military career by want. His uncle was a 
rich banker who was suspected to be on the royalist 
side, and the soldiers took delight in thwarting a 
possible chance of his growing up an anti-imperialist 
under the wing of this relative. They used their in- 
fluence to enter him in the military college and kept 
his claim to remembrance so persistently before their 
master, that soon, ravenous for followers, he drew 
Albert from the seminary and gave him a cornet’s 
commission. But it was not in his father’s arm of 
the service ; he was to begin his apprenticeship in 
the cavalry. Thus he was under the orders of Cap- 
tain Champoreau of the Seventh Dragoons. 

Mark, ’’continued the latter,“the riot that you hear 
down yonder comes from a detachment of regular 
troops skirmishing with irregulars. You have not a 
musical ear or you would have noticed the hoarse 
bang of fowling-pieces — hark ! Pung, pung ! and 
now Bang, bang ! that is the big muzzles answering.” 

“ In any case, captain, it is our own people fight- 
ing, and were we to gallop up — ” 

“ We may have to do that, my boy, we may — and 
faster than at a gallop ; but the first thing is to hear 
the report of Ratibal, who is on the way back.” 

In truth, the scout appeared on the roadside. 
The more easily to penetrate the thicket, he had 
taken off his white cloak, so that he showed a well- 
worn green coat with three chevrons on the sleeve, 
and red shoulderknots : the dragoon’s glorious uni- 
form. 


THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 1$ 

** Nothing, captain ; only the enemy driving rus- 
tics out of a farm.” 

“ He was right,” muttered the youth, surprised at 
the old hand’s sagacity. 

** Pierre Champoreau does not often blunder 
when a-field, my lad,” observed the latter with a 
meaning wink. How many do you make out the 
sour-krout eaters to be?” 

‘'Twenty white-coats on foot and a few light- 
horsemen in scarlet, commanded by an officer of 
rank, with a carriage on the road.” 

“I see: an escort to an old general’s carriage. 
Did the bumpkins look like holding their own? ” 

“ They fought like wild cats ; and it would not 
surprise me if they had a soldier in their midst, for 
they had barricaded the house properly, and were 
firing out of the windows guardedly ; but still it is 
my opinion that they must be whipped out of it.” 

“ Dash it all ! we cannot let our own countrymen 
be massacred,” quickly said the young officer. 

“ Stop a minute, young sir,” went on the old offi- 
cer, with the same coolness. “I want nothing better 
than to lend these louts a helping hand, but we are 
bound to move in a military manner.” 

“The farmhouse is only three gunshots from the 
edge of the wood, and we could creep up under 
cover,” suggested the private trooper. 

“That’s good enough, then; but you know these 
parts — where are we?” 

“Sooth to say, it is no end of time since I was 
here, but for all that I reckon we are not far from 


l6 THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 

St. Dizier; and it is my idea that this is the Montier- 
in-Der Forest on our right, so that the hamlet below 
would be called Eclaron.’' 

“ThaFs odd,'' said the officer, suddenly falling 
into thought. '‘Last night the Emperor was to 
sleep at St. Dizier, and do we meet here the tail of 
Schwartzenberg’s army, eh? He must be coming 
back this way, and it behooves us to keep our eyes 
skinned, or we may get squeezed." 

“But those poor peasants will be slaughtered," 
remonstrated the boy-officer, who had not seen 
enough suffering on the retreat from Russia to 
harden his heart, and whose humanity made him 
forget the position he held in rank. 

“We are going to see about that, young man, par- 
ticularly as it is high time to reconnoiter our own 
position. 

“Away we go, then," ejaculated Boissier, giving 
rein to his horse. 

“Not so fast," replied the elder, seizing his 
bridle with an iron hand which made the steed rear, 
and bringing him to a stop. He alighted, and con- 
tinued: “According to the regulations we dragoons 
may fight mounted or afoot. At present, we become 
infantry. Ratibal, stay here to guard the horses, 
while we push on to see how our Champagne peas- 
ants fight the invaders." 

“All I am afraid of is that we shall arrive too 
late," grumbled the fiery youth. 

For the few moments preceding this, the musketry 
fire had relaxed, and the already better trained ear 


THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 17 

of the cornet of horse remarked that it was the reg- 
ular guns that predominated with their constant fire. 
The rustics’ coarse weapons sounded only at rare in- 
tervals with dull reports smothered by the fusillade, 
much as notes from the flageolets would be drowned 
in a band when the clarions blared. Both officers 
strode into the underwood, and soon arrived on its 
border at the valleyside. Directly beneath them, a 
natural ridge cut the slope across at about breast 
height; lower down, the declivity sloped gently to 
an immense mead. 

The action was taking place around a lonely 
farm house, seeming to stand as advanced post to 
Eclaron village, built on a pretty river bank a short 
distance off. The dragoons overlooked the scene, 
and could descry every detail like spectators of a 
play from the upper gallery. The fields were utter- 
ly deserted, and vast clouds of black smoke were whir- 
ling above the apparently abandoned dwellings. A 
dozen of them were blazing at the same time, and at 
whiles down would fall a wall, or a roof would sink 
in with a horrifying crash. Cut partly away by bul- 
lets, the wooden steeple of the village church hung 
over like a tree all but felled. At the farther end of 
the plain and on the opposite hillside, such carts 
and cattle were hurrying off as could be saved by 
the unfortunate farmers. It was a picture of foreign 
invasion in its reddest and blackest colors. 

“By thunder !” roared the captain, while his eyes 
seemed to kindle from those flames, “these are but 
marauders in soldiers’ coats; the black sheep of their 


l8 THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 

army; those first at the plundering and last at the 
fray.” 

“What a pity,” sighed the young officer, whose 
childhood’s eyes had been seared by the conflagration 
of Moscow and could not be expected to see here 
more than a bonfire; “it is all over.” He had lost 
the color which the prospect of fighting had raised 
and the finger was bloodless with which he pointed 
to the grange. 

Just before he spoke, the door had begun to 
yield under the redoubled blows from musket-butts, 
and the victors started in a rush to take the house 
valiantly defended. The intrepid peasants had 
quitted the window to meet the assailants, who had 
found the contest murderous, as several dead bodies 
were stretched on the sward. 

On the highway running across the plain, as 
Ratibal had reported, a traveling coach, with four 
horses, was stationed about fifty paces from the 
bullet-perforated walls. By the doorway was a 
mounted officer, who seemed at the same time to 
guard it and watch how the attack went on. 

“What the mischief is that strapping ruffian in 
scarlet doing by that coach?” muttered the dragoon 
captain. “If this be the style in which his men are 
shown how to storm fortified houses, I do not com- 
pliment them. The Austrians have fallen off sadly 
since your father and I fought them beyond the 
Alps.” 

“Oh, hark!’’ interrupted the young man, grasp- 
ing his arm. 


THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 


19 


The rattle of a few gunshots, stifled partially by 
the walls of the shattered house, betokened the end 
of the stubborn struggle. A lugubrious silence 
ensued. 

“The place is taken, and there is no more for us 
to do than fall back,” philosophically observed the 
old dragoon. 

“Oh, captain, look!” exclaimed the cornet, in a 
voice shaking with emotion. 

Out of the abode a confused crowd was rushing, 
and one could discern furious soldiers surrounding 
prisoners whom they dragged up to their command- 
er at the vehicle. In the midst a woman’s white 
gown stood out upon the ruddy hussar uniform, and 
the hapless creature’s screams rose to the wood 
where the dragoons were hidden. 

“The scoundrels!” cried the younger officer, 
shaking his fist at the raiders. “Must we stand by, 
captain, and let these ruffians cut a woman’s throat?” 

“Keep cool, young sir — keep cool — devil take it! 
At present we can do nothing, but there may be a 
change by-and-by/’ 

The scene shifted in the vale. The Austrian 
leader gesticulated and seemed to issue orders, with 
a short and decisive result. In less than a minute, 
the young woman, in spite of desperate resistance, 
was hurried into the vehicle, which was drawn away 
at a smart trot. It was followed by the officer and a 
dozen soldiers, quickening their pace; the others 
detached and proceeded through the meadow to- 
ward the hill. 


20 


THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 


‘‘They are coming straight to us,” said the captain 
in an undertone. 

The little troop came on quickly, shoving before 
them a couple of prisoners; one walked with much 
trouble, as he was wounded. 

“This is getting interesting, and we have front 
seats to see the sport,” whispered the old officer; 
“but what are they coming up here to do? Oh, stay, 
I have it. They mean to shoot them, set with their 
backs to the rock over which we are hanging.” 

“But are we not going to fall upon these 
rascals?” inquired the cornet. 

His captain made no haste to answer. With pro- 
found attention he was watching what happened 
underneath them. The carriage and its escort were 
already out of sight, having plunged into the wood; 
but the rest were rapidly approaching. They num- 
bered seven, officered by a corporal, and they were 
driving the doomed ones to their place of execution 
with thumps of their muskets. 

“Hang me if there is not a soldier of ours among 
them, beside the chaw-bacon^' said the captain. 

“True, true, I can see his shako and cross-belts,” 
agreed the other quickly. 

“Cornet Boissier,” went on the old dragoon, in 
a crisp, well-controlled voice, “be good enough to go 
after my orderly Ratibal, awaiting us on the road. 
Mount your horse, bid him do the same, and bring 
my jade in hand. Mind! above all, no noise in com- 
ing back through the wood.” 

The youth wanted no urging, but sprang away 


THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 


21 


under the brush. In five minutes he was on the return 
with the trooper, and the captain, who had been 
impatiently waiting for them, was soon in the saddle. 
Still the 'prentice soldier did not perceive the best 
plan, and he asked with much anxiety of himself 
what was to happen. 

“Have you a firm seat in the saddle?" inquired 
the dragoon. 

“Why; rather so," replied the other, blushing a 
little, for he had taken to horse-riding at the school 
with extraordinary liking, which had overcome his 
fears and made him bear the tumbles as mere by- 
play; “beside the lessons I was always out riding 
in the park." 

“Veiy good — I don't doubt your skill," inter* 
rupted the superior, hiding a smile in his moustache. 
“Furthermore, I notice that your nag has sound legs," 
added he, scrutinizing the charger with an expert’s 
eye. “So now, heed the operation, and do exactly 
what you see me do." 

The wood thinned out on the pasture-land in 
clumps of trees thick enough to hide the horsemen. 
But there was a clearing scooping out the woody 
border on the right to some extent. 

The Austrians were scarcely a dozen paces 
distant. 

“Are you ready, Ratibal?” demanded the old 
officer, lowering his voice. 

“Never fear, captain, I have Coco well in hand 
under me." 

The corporal conducting the detachment growled 
a 


22 


THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 


some order, and his men stooped with the automatic 
precision distinguishingthe older Imperial regiments 
and those dolls which dance on the top of hand- 
organs. The two prisoners had guessed what was 
to be their fate; they shook hands and waited with 
lofty heads. The under officer came to them, shoved 
them with wooden-headed roughness to the foot of 
the hill, set their backs to a flat-fronted boulder, 
and strutted tranquilly back to his file. The three 
dragoons, ambushed in the wood, were directly over 
their countrymen’s heads and could not see them. 

^'Draw sabers and oblique march to the right,” 
said the captain. 

The firing party were in a row only five paces 
from the prisoners; upon the call of the corporal 
the soldiers lifted their guns. 

‘‘Out, and upon them!” roared the captain in a 
voice of thunder. 

“Down with them!” shouted the cornet and the 
private, as the three, letting their chargers loose 
at the same time, dashed abreast out on the level land. 

Through luck or skill, not one lost his seat in 
this daring leap, and they alighted from the peril- 
ous flight almost in a line as accurate as in the woods. 
The enemy were so close that they were upon them 
when they landed. The strange appearance of this 
cavalry, as if dropping out of the skies, was enough 
in itself to put a host to flight; and the firing pla- 
toon scattered without firing a shot or using the 
bayonets. But the new comers had not risked 
breaking their necks for nothing. 


THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 


23 


“Charge!” shouted the captain, bending forward 
to deliver a thrust. 

The action was short but decisive. The corporal 
alone thought of defending himself; he blazed away 
at Ratibal, whose moustache he singed, but the saber 
clove his formidable Danubian oath in his gullet. 
The captain split one skull, stabbed three soldiers 
through the back, and still kept on after the fugi- 
tives. Albert Boissier, unaccustomed to the heavy 
cavalry-sword, had not dealt any cuts or thrusts so 
deadly, but his horse’s breast had upset one foeman 
without there being need or any wish on his part 
to finish him. The victory was complete. Out of 
the eight men in the file, four had bitten the dust; 
one was rolling on the ground half stunned, and the 
other three were running off as fast as legs could 
carry them. The captain had been compelled to 
give up pursuit, as his mare sank to the fetlock in 
the swampy soil at every stride, and he leisurely 
rode back. In a matter-of-fact way he wiped his 
blade on his horse’s mane and then proudly twisted 
his moustache into trim again. Still bloodless from 
excess of excitement, his pupil could not help ad- 
miring this soldier whom he had inwardly accused 
of caution, but who had discomfited a whole 
platoon. 

The united dash was so unlike the disorganized 
rush of the Cossack lancers on the fleeing French in 
Russia, under his eyes, blinded by the snow and 
hail, that he still contemplated with amazement the 
insensible Austrian at his feet. He was so far from 


24 


THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 


conscious of what he had done in the charge that he 
believed he had cut him down, but suddenly the 
supposed corpse sprang nimbly up and set to run- 
ning on the road. While the youth hesitated about 
following, a gunshot cracked close to his ear, and he 
saw the unhappy flier pitch over like a shot hare, 
with his arms thrqwn out beyond his extended neck. 
Ten seconds after, he writhed no more, and a trickle 
of blood streaked the grass. 

“These outlandish guns are not so bad!'' piped a 
jibing voice beside Boissier, who turned and faced 
a queer character. 

This was a lad younger than he, slight, thin, sal- 
low, with small grey eyes and a turn-up nose; he 
leaned on the horse's crupper, and leered and grinned 
up at him. This Flibberty gibbet wore the French 
foot soldier’s uniform with the lavish embroidery 
specially adorning the drum corps. In his hand he 
was still holding the gun with which he had fired, 
one evidently pioked up on the battle-field. He 
seemed delighted with his feat. 

“I suppose you would testify that I knocked him 
over, eh, officer ?” he said with a nasal twang and 
with the unctuous drawl popular among the low 
order of Parisians. 

The cornet examined him with astonishment, 
wondering whence had sprung up this manikin so 
pleased with his own prowess; but he understood 
what had occurred with a little reflection. When 
the dragoons brought the unexpected deliverance to 
the prisoners, they were awaiting death with their 


THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 


25 


backs to the rocks. Almost over their heads the 
horses had leaped, and the combat had ended so 
quickly that they had no time to participate in it. 
But the younger of the pair had tried to make up 
for lost time by catching up a fallen musket and 
making use of it. 

“Who is that firing without orders?’' demanded 
Champoreau, as he pulled up his horse within a 
neck of the boy. 

“Kindly let me off this once, captain,” whined 
the little soldier, without hesitation. “I am a drum- 
mer and I have drilled with the drum sticks and not 
ramrods.” 

Champing his moustache to hide a smile, the vet- 
eran abruptly asked: 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Didn’t you see, captain? I was polishing off 
the Kaiserlichs — the Austrians; I get a cent a day 
for the work.” 

“Come, come, none of your nonsense, lad! What 
is your name and your number, and why are you not 
with your regiment?” 

“I am Auguste Cocagne, born in the St. Antoine 
suburb of Paris, a pupil drummer in the Ninth Light 
Infantry — the foremost regiment in France — all 
Paris boys; and for the present I am on leave at my 
uncle Lecomte’s farm at Eclaron, in the Upper 
Marne district.” 

After this reply, uttered like a lesson from a 
schoolboy, he drew himself bolt upright, with the 
edge of one hand to his cap and staring straight in 


26 


THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 


front, as if a general were reviewing him. Though 
the captain had some difficulty in keeping serious, 
he retained his air of command. ’ 

“Leave of absence, before the enemy? Do you 
take me for a raw recruit that you sing such a song?” 
he sternly said. 

“Oh, I can make that clear to you, captain,” said 
the boy, without being abashed. “In the first place, 
my regiment is in Ricard’s division, and I caught 
the typhus at Mentz. As I am an orphan — for, d’ye 
see, my mother, a lady of the canteen, stayed under 
the snows in the great Russian campaign — ” this an- 
alogy of the lonely state and the loss of a mother 
doubled Albert’s interest in the boy — “and my dad 
was killed last year at Hanau; so I came for my con- 
valescence — a big mouthful, that, for a small boy — 
to my uncle Lecomte’s, where I hoped to have fin- 
ished my furlough. But I learnt that the enemy and 
all their carts and horses were coming along, and I 
was going to start to-morrow, to join my division, 
when those scamps of hussars and the mud-re gime7it s 
squad pounced on Eclaron.” 

“Where is your division?” inquired the captain, 
fully appeased. 

“Out that way, by Troyes or Chalons, I don’t 
rightly know; but at St. Dizier I expected to learn. 
Marshal Key’s corps — ” 

Albert never heard the name of Key, “the last of 
the rear-guard of the Grande Armee,” without feel- 
ing the inclination to salute. 

“Key’s corps stopped for a sup and a bite there 


THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 


27 


yesterday, and I shall find some of the lads there to 
tell me whether it is to be ‘ two turns to the right or 
to the left, and follow your nose till you find it.’ ” 

The boy uttered this last sentence with the accent 
of a countryman lost in the town, repeating a direc- 
tion given by a townsman, all so drolly that the cap- 
tain kept a sour face no longer, 

“Come along, you drubber of a sheepskin,” he 
laughingly said, “I will take you with me to St. 
Dizier. You speak too much and shoot too straight 
for me to waste you here. Come, brother,” contin- 
ued the captain to his lieutenant, “and close up, 
Ratibal, and let’s decamp. The enemy may return, 
and we are short of infantry.” 

“Cry your pardon, captain; I would not refuse to 
make the march with you, but I cannot leave iny 
poor uncle all alone here with these hunks of cold 
meat,” said the drummer-boy, pointing with his toe 
to one of the dead bodies. 

“Where is your uncle?” 

“There, captain, but not in a state to do much 
marching and countermarching, for those ugly dogs 
pommeled him to a jelly with their clumsy musket- 
stocks.” 

“Very likely; I forgot all about the countryman,” 
said the captain simply; “let us see how he is.” 

The lad’s uncle was far from resembling him. He 
was a man full six feet in height, and otherwise of 
herculean proportions, as is often the case with 
working farmers, whose dress he wore. He might 
have attained his five-and-fortieth year, and his 


28 


THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 


countenance bore a remarkable expression of spirit 
and frankness. This robust cultivator was a model 
of those sons of the soil at whom the dwellers in 
towns sneer and jeer in times of peace, but on whom 
they rely to oppose the invader with their broad and 
dauntless breasts when the war-dogs are loosed. 

“Well, my honest friend, have you the pluck to 
march with us?’' hailed the captain. 

“I don’t think we wanted for that,” returned the 
peasant, with mournful pride. 

“Burn me if you did,” agreed the dragoon, “for 
you held out in your home like those snuff-com- 
plexioned Spaniards at Saragossa. But if the enemy 
drop on you again, the fact of your resisting will 
entitle you to be shot offhand, with no mistake this 
time.” 

“I care not— they have taken my all,” muttered 
the beaten man. “I may as well die here on my 
split hearthstone.” 

“Trash,” resumed Champoreau, though he was 
inwardly melting; “better come on to St. Dizier, 
where the Emperor is, and when he hears, my honest 
friend, what a bitter pill you were for the enemy to 
take, he will give- you the wherewithal to repair 
damages.” 

“No emperor can restore me my daughter,” 
groaned the man in a sullen voice. 

“Your daughter?” repeated Boissier, who was 
listening with lively emotion. “Was that the girl in 
a light dress that they took away?” 

“I daresay,” said they:aptain, between frowning 


THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 


29 


and grimly smiling; number of people dislike 
Frenchmen, but our women are thought agreeable 
enough.” 

‘We will overtake them and bring her home, I 
warrant you,” quickly declared the cornet to the 
bereaved father. 

“Father Jacques,” said the drummer-boy, earn- 
estly, “won’t you come along with us and help us 
recover Therese?” 

The father started on hearing the endeared name. 

“Talking of wolves,” abruptly cried Ratibal, 
“there they come. Those Austrian hussars — and the 
white-coated foot — the officer in scarlet, and the 
carriage — in short, the whole collection.” 

“I told you that you should have a chance of 
getting our Therese home again,” said Cocagne, as 
he held out his hand to assist his uncle to rise. 

The dragoon had seen clearly, for the forayers 
were returning, numerous enough this time to make 
one mouthful of the five foes, to say nothing of one 
being mauled, one a boy and another little better in 
point of years. 

“Those runaways brought the rest upon us,” 
explained the captain, twirling his moustache. 

“It was no fault of mine,” criticised Cocagne, “if 
every one had laid out his man, as a little chap about 
my size and age did, we — ” 

“Silence in the ranks,” the captain said, rising in 
his stirrups, the better to study the manner of the 
enemy’s disposal. 

The view was not encouraging; at most the road 


30 


THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 


by which the Austrians were arriving was only three 
hundred paces distant; and the level meadow offered 
no obstacle, not a ditch, a tree or even a bush. To 
cross this green in order to reach the farm ruins for 
shelter was exposure without any protection from 
the shots. It was no longer possible to climb back 
into the woods, unless they left the horses, which 
certainly could not scramble up the rocks. The 
little force was therefore condemned to stand and 
defend on the spot. Stay! another course remained: 
the horsemen might spur off, leaving the maltreated 
farmer and tha drummer as a sacrifice. The captain 
alternately looked at the poor fellows whom he had 
saved, and at the Austrians, coming up at the quick 
step. 

“It’s a rub,” grumbled the veteran; “I cannot let 
the enemy snap up my pair — my recruits, in a man- 
ner of speaking. It may cost us our skins but that 
drummer is a promising imp, and it would be a pity 
to have him snuffed out before he grows into a five- 
foot candle of glory on some battle-field. As for 
the other youngster, he is fit for other horse ex- 
ercise than in a park. And the turnip-raiser,” con- 
cluded the soldier, “I am in doubts what I ought to 
do about him.” 

Champoreau professed but a poor opinion for 
anybody out of military apparel. Spite of this 
defect, Lecomte carried himself manfully. With 
high head, inflamed face, and flashing eye, he forgot 
his bruises to watch the enemy angrily. After hav- 
ing aided him to stand up, his nephew had hurried 




THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 3 1 

to turn the dead over and take their cartridge boxes. 

.“I call this tit for tat,” he chuckled. “We are 
going to throw back to them the sugar-plums they 
brought all the way from Vienna.” 

Gladdened by this proof of a practical turn of 
mind, the captain admired the urchin who, it must 
be admitted, went about his work with unequaled 
quickness and dexterity. 

“Perhaps I am unfair,” the veteran mused, with a 
reproachful shake of the head; “this child of the 
city gutter is a perfect monkey when any fun is 
about, and his kinsmen does not lookjike wincing 
when the wind blows chill. It’s worth while trying 
them in the fire.” 

Dismounting, he beckoned to the young dragoon 
for him to imitate the act. Ratibal had guessed his 
commander’s intentions, for he was already on foot. 
“Hold the three chargers in a row,” said Champoreau 
to him, “and you, youngster, pass us those sugar- 
plums, as you call them, with those sugar sticks 
five feet long.” 

“Coming, coming!” cried the boy, imitating the 
tapster in a wine-saloon. 

The manoeuvre conceived by the captain was 
very simple and had been practiced more than once 
by him in Spain, against the guerillas, or giierilleros, 
if it is not too late to be correct; the same act is not 
uncommon in lands where horses are plentifully 
caught, and the ground is prairie. It consists in 
substituting for the missing natural entrenchment a 
living wall, the horses performing the office of bas- 



32 


THE RAID OF THE RED HUSSARS. 


tions. Thus organized, the defense was perilous but 
reasonable. The fallen had furnished four muskets, 
enough for all, as Ratibal had unhooked his carbine 
from his saddle-bow. On these hooks and those of 
the other animals, Cocagne had hung all the car- 
touch-boxes, containing a hundred rounds. The 
main thing was to aim well and fire true. 

The enemy were within a hundred paces, tramp- 
ing on without distrust from not understanding the 
precautions. They had a picturesque* appear-ance, 
as their uniforms were mixed: white coats, green 
ones of the skirmishers from the Tyrol, and the red 
of the hussars, for some of this branch had left their 
horses or lost them recently. The mounted officer, 
the carriage and the troopers for escort, remained 
on the road, as they had previously done during the 
attack on the grange. 

“Are you ready?’' inquired Champoreau, resting 
his musket on the saddle hollow as it were in a ram- 
part embrasure. 

“As soon as you like,” replied the drummer-boy, 
obliged to stand on tiptoe to aim over the crupper 
of the captain’s mare. 

“Then, fire at will, and try your best not to waste 
your powder.” 

Four shots went off at almost the same time, and 
two men fell. 

“Re-load,” said the old officer, with the same 
easy unconcern of one ordering a drill exercise. 

The enemy were surprised into stopping short, 
but they replied with a general volley; too high in 


33 



level, the balls hurtled' overhead, and the captain 
twirled his moustache in token of pleasure as, when 
he was in the contrary mood, he champed it. 

^ “Now, come on — let us have a grasp on them,” 
said Farmer Lecomte, making to spring from behind 
the equine breastwork. 

“Keep your place, daddy,” sternly commanded 
the leader; “we are not in any force to make sorties. 
Besides, we must see how these fellows go to work 
since we have rubbed them up the wrong way.” 

Ratibal, who had a sound head and keen eyes, 
was again the first to discern the Austrians' next 
action. They had fallen back in a body around their 
wary chief, who enjoyed the sight from a safe dis- 
tance, and by the prudent warrior’s waves of the hand 
it was clear that he wanted them to rush once more 
upon the foe. But they displayed no zest for the 
assault, and the debate continued until the dragoon 
suddenly exclaimed: “Burn my boots!” a favorite 
vociferation of his — “blessed if they are not going 
to bring the carriage to bear on usl” 

“Ha, ha!” gruffly chuckled the captain. “I see 
the trick; they are copying our own lesson right 
enough; they are going to use the vehicle as a mov- 
able fort in the same way as we converted the 
horses into a cover. Not at all backward of these 



CHAPTER II. 


STEEL AND BRASS. 

It was a singular sight, this heavy coach dragged 
toward the group at bay like some war machine. 
As it was large enough to mask all the enemy, they 
had not failed to profit by it; the driver alone was 
exposed to shots. He was a strapping fellow, in the 
scarlet uniform of the Croatian Hussars, and with 
perfect calm he whipped up the horses and urged 
them on. ^ ^ 

am going to take care of you, my brazen 
Jehu,’’ muttered Ratibal, cocking his carbine. 

‘‘Whip behind, Jarvey, whip behind,” screamed 
Cocagne, in the tone used by the boy in the dust to 
incite the coachman to lash the luckier urchin cling- 
ing to the footboard. 

At this grotesque outburst. Cornet Boissier could 
not refrain from laughing, although the situation was 
not a humorous one. When within fifty paces of 
the French, the improvised battery stopped and pre- 
sented its side like a ship of war about to deliver its 
broadside. Five or six musket barrels were thrust 
out from the carriage body, and the captain was 
about to order fire to be opened on them when a 
white figure appeared at the window. 

“Oh, there’s my daughter!” exclaimed the farmer. 

34 


STEEL AND BRASS. 35 

‘‘The cunning fiends,” growled Champoreau ; “they 
are making a buckler of the girl to stay our fire.” 

That was the foe's intention, on the principle 
that as all is fair in war, the use of the fair one was 
praiseworthy. Held from behind by unseen hands, 
the farmer's daughter was thrust into the doorway 
of the “calash,” so thaf it became next to impossible 
for her friends to shoot without hitting her. This 
infernal scheme must haye been preconcerted, as the 
driver leaped nimbly to the ground, unharnessed the 
teams at the traces in a twinkling and hastened to 
ambush himself with his comrades behind the vehi- 
cle. In the surprise,~no one thought of firing at the 
horses, so that they, as well as their masters, were 
covered before the little troop could get off a shot. 

“ Come, come,” said the captain, “ it is going to 
be a siege, a fort against a redoubt! We were foot- 
soldiers and now we become engineers, and if it keeps 
on 

. He did not finish the sentence, as a bullet glanced 
off his helmet and made him stagger as though he 
had received a cuff on the ear. At the same instant, 
Ratibal's charger, forming the end of the line, was 
hit in the thigh and desperately lashed out with its 
hoofs. The enemy did not shoot very accurately as 
they were under cover, but it was easy for them to 
improve by degrees on their aim, and the resisting 
handful's total destruction was merely a question of 
time. 

Recovering from the shock, the captain leveled 
his gun in a fury, and shouted: 


36 


STEEL AND BRASS. 


“You bunglers, I’ll teach you to spoil our caps!** 

But Albert seized his arm before he had time to 
pull the trigger and diverted his attention to the 
peasant. Pale and with clenched teeth, the unhappy 
father was convulsively clutching his gun-barrel, as 
he stared fixedly before him; his eyes were too 
fiercely hot for tears to dwell in them. The smoke 
which had enwrapped the carriage after the dis- 
charge, was fading, so that the girl re-appeared, 
motionlessly shielding with her frail form the merci- 
less Huns from the Drave and the Danube. She 
did not scream or struggle, but awaited death from 
her countrymen’s hands with a martyr’s resignation. 

“ No, no,” pleaded the youngest dragoon. 

“ I cannot risk killing a woman,” angrily said the 
captain, though he raised his firearm again. “ It is 
all very fine, young sir, we shall not fire; but you 
can prepare to mount guard at the pearly gates of 
Paradise. Before ten minutes, the Seventh Dra- 
goons will have vacancies for two officers.” 

“Ay; and there’ll be an opening for a drummer- 
boy in the Ninth Foot — a terrible void to fill, though 
I say it, who shouldn’t,” added the town boy’s mock- 
ing voice. 

Two shots punctuated this jest. It was evident 
that the enemy had adopted a slow but sure method; 
they were firing by relief-files so that they saved in 
powder as in men. This time, the farmer was hit in 
the shoulder and the captain’s mare, struck full in 
the chest, dropped in a Jump. The living wall was 
breached and, by this gap, the foe, if the inclination 


STEEL AND BRASS. 


37 


were not lacking, might have carried the little band 
by assault. 

“Close up,’' commanded the captain, catching 
Ratibal’s horse by the reins to bring it back. 

Albert executed the same act with his, so that 
the rampart was formed anew, and the defenders, 
however serried their little rank, had barely room 
enough for cover. Lecomte did not even think of 
binding up his wound, though it bled profusely; he 
wished he were dead as he gazed on his daughter. v 

Lying on the reddened grass, the captain’s charg- 
er writhed in the last spasms. 

“Poor Talavera! ” sighed the old dragoon while 
the beast expired; “That jade saved my life at Sala- 
manca and Victoria. Somebody will have to pay 
for her hide, dearly.” 

He was still struggling with his emotion when 
he felt a tug at his sleeve. Quickly turning, he faced 
Cocagne who had resumed the vertical position. 

“ What do you want? ” he challenged in anything 
but an inviting tone. 

The drummer pointed to the hillside beyond the 
village. On the summit, a dark mass stood out in 
relief like a melted patch in a snowfield. The cor- 
net, who had spent his latter time in the college 
classrooms and exercise-yard, would have taken 
this hazy shade for a range of bushes, but his superi- 
or’s eye, trained in a score of continuous campaigns, 
could not be so deceived. 

“ Troops,” he said. 

“ And on the march,” tranquilly subjoined the boy. 

3 


38 


STEEL AND BRASS. 


If the patch were watched, it could be seen to 
move. 

This scamp from Paris is right,” growled the 
veteran; “there are troops coming up, but who do 
they belong to? If to the allied armies, our accounts 
are settled.” 

Cocagne said nothing, but his eyes spoke for 
his tongue; they expressed such a longing to 
laugh that Champoreau gave way to wrath on the 
instant. 

“ Do you take this to be funny, you rogue?” he 
questioned, shaking him by the collar. 

“ Don’t be cross, captain; but I ought to be ac- 
quainted around here, as my mother came out of 
Champagne, and I used to run out here for the fruit 
season. I know that, in front of us, beyond Eclaron, 
is the St. Dizier road, and that’s the place where the 
Emperor slept last night.” 

“ In fact,” the old officer reasoned, in a low tone, 
“ if the enemy retired on Brienne so hastily, it was 
from having the emperor so close to their coat- 
tails. That may be the Imperial Guards coming up 
yonder.” 

“ They were Austrians who passed Montier,” said 
the farmer, “ and they who fell on my farm were the 
rearguard.” 

“To say nothing of my catching the sound of a 
French bugle call.” 

It was Ratibal who spoke, and, indeed, the breeze 
brought at intervals the flourishes of a clarion; Bois- 
sier, in his early experience, had often enough heard 


STEEL AND BRASS. 


39 


that shrill wail, calling in the stragglers whom the 
cavaliers of the Ukraine prevented responding, and 
he shuddered. 

“ Now is the time to evacuate our post, my boys,” 
remarked the captain. “We must scramble into the 
woods and keep up the firing until our vanguard 
relieves us.” 

The cornet and the trooper prepared to execute 
this order, but the farmer and his nephew did not 
budge. 

“ Thank you for all you have done, officer,” said 
the farmer. “ Save the men, but I am going to stand 
and stop a bullet.” 

“ Not a bit of it, Father Lecomte,” interrupted 
Cocagne; “you cut away with the dragoons, and 
leave me to bring back Therese all by myself.” 

Without waiting for a comment on this extrava- 
gant boast, the saucy boy, lying prostrate, began to 
creep toward the vehicle. 

“Where can this little crazy-head be off to?” 
wondered Champoreau. 

For a short space curiosity made them forget 
the danger, and all wistfully watched the urchin’s 
foolhardy adventure. He dragged himself on hands 
and knees with incredible speed, as though he had 
always traveled on all-fours. The Austrians were 
continuing their firing with the same methodical 
slowness, and the latest leaden missiles had wounded 
Boissier’s steed, but as they had to fire across the 
carriage, they could not depress the muskets suffi- 
ciently to hit a man. Flat upon the sward, Cocagne 


40 


STEEL AND BRASS. 


\ 


escaped their bullets, and the nearer he approached 
the calash, the better he was sheltered. 

“ Is he not sly, the little toad?” ejaculated Rati- 
bal in admiration. 

“But how will he get out of the scrape?” queried 
the captain, so absorbed in the sight that he forgot 
to attend to the conduct of his petty troop. 

Without accident the boy managed to reach the 
vehicle, and they saw him slip into a basket under 
the box, a “boot” for carrying odds and ends in, 
such as the tools for repairing damages to the 
coach or the harness. 

“All that he gets by this is to be carried off by 
the Austrians,” muttered the captain. “That is a 
backhanded way of capturing them.” 

While the Parisian boy was accomplishing his 
perilous task, considerable movement had taken 
place by the vehicle. Therese Lecomte was no 
longer in sight at the window, as the two soldiers 
who had been holding her dragged her down by 
force upon the back seat, where they placed them- 
selves beside her. At the same time they shut the 
windows. Evidently they had descried the French 
vanguard out Eclaron way, and they were making 
ready to depart. In a thrice the horses were put to, 
the traces adjusted, and the lath-like soldier who 
had driven was installed with the lines again. 

“Aim at the horses,” shouted the dragoon captain. 

All four aimed together, but none of them fired. 
Before the driver had time to square his elbows, 
up popped Cocagne above the springs and 


STEEL AND BRASS. 


41 


over the spatter>board through the opening at the 
back of the driver’s seat-box; grasping the whip-lash 
and the man’s slender leg, he shook him off his bal- 
ance, as much by the surprise as by his strength, and 
hurled him off into the grass. This feat was per- 
formed with the agility of an acrobat and the brisk- 
ness of a monkey. The friends of the fallen were 
still wondering how it had occurred, when the boy, 
picking up the reins, smacked the whip over the 
four horses like an old royal coachman, and screamed 
ear-splittingly: 

“The lightning coach for St. Dizier! Your sort 
can come after by the slow coach.” 

The scene had changed like one in a pantomime. 
Swept away by the double span, the calash left the 
Austrians without shelter. They shook in stupor 
while unknowing which way to turn. A few had 
the presence of mind to shoot after the flying coach, 
but their snap shots did not strike it, and it contin- 
ued its mad course. The amateur driver crossed the 
meadow as though he had “tooled” four-in-hands all 
his little life, and as soon as he struck the road he 
directed his steeds toward the village. The trick 
had been played with such boldness, and there was 
so much audacity in the impromptu charioteer’s 
attitude, as he was obliged to stand up to manage 
the lines, that the beholders on his side sent up a 
cheer. 

“Degrade me if he is not sharper than the whole 
company of us,” said the captain. “The boy is 
bringing you your daughter sure enough.” 


42 


STEEL AND BRASS. 


The farmer could not get out a word; he was 
choking with gladness. 

“Suppose we help him a trifle/’ observed Ratibal, 
raising his gun — a speech and an action quickly 
understood. 

Four shots, going off like one, overthrew three of 
the living targets, among them the tall coachman, 
just rising like Phaeton after his fall through Apollo- 
Cocagne. 

“Well, there’s one that will do no more driving,” 
was Champoreau’s remark; “that will teach him not 
to elope with young girls.” 

The rest of the troop fell back under cover of 
the trees. Their officer alone showed himself as 
braver and more intelligent. He was near enough 
for his splendid uniform, his bearing and almost his 
features to be distinguished. He was a very fair 
young man, jauntily wearing the tight-fitting jacket 
and the loosely slung outer jacket, slashed and 
richly trimmed with gold braid; a gold cord and tas- 
sel decorated his high shako, and his sinewy legs in 
scarlet tights held him gracefully and yet firmly on 
his fine bright bay horse. He wavered for a second as 
he saw Cocagne reach the Eclaron road, but almost 
simultaneously he pricked in with both gilded spurs, 
and started, with a brandished saber of Oriental type, 
in pursuit of the coach. 

“Whither is the going?” grumbled the 

dragoon; “he flies so fast that I cannot hit him on 
the wing.” 

“Never fret, captain,” said Ratibal, lightly, “bet- 


STEEL AND BRASS. 


43 


ter trap him for the caged life. Let our skirmishers 
take him — there they come already at the end of 
the village.” 

“Truth to tell,” proceeded the officer, “he is 
tricked out like some dandy officer of the Imperial 
staff, and our Emperor might not be sorry to catch 
an officer of his rank.” 

The dragoon had made a mistake and he speedily 
perceived it; the Scarlet Hussar's charger had a 
pace far superior to that of the heavy Mecklenburg 
beasts hauling the calash. He flew like an arrow, 
and would in a few seconds catch up with the 
equipage. 

“Run over him, boy!” shouted the captain to 
the driver, who was already too far to hear him. 

Ratibal begged the fires of Hades to burn' his 
boots, and used other execrations fit to make a 
heathen blush. Breathless with emotion, Albert 
and Father Lecomte followed with their eyes, in the 
utmost anxiety, the incident in progress on the 
highway. 

The drummer had left his gun behind him when 
he started to crawl out to the vehicle, and he bore 
nothing in the way of a weapon save the whip, 
which, however, he wielded handsomely, lashing 
out at his pursuer as well as at the horses. But the 
light cavalryman managed his Arab with marvelous 
dexterity. Having shot ahead, he swayed about in 
the saddle, as supple as a serpent, to avoid the lash, 
without running in to cut Cocagne down. Plainly, 
he was seeking to bar the way of the carriage. 


m 



44 


STEEL AND BRASS. 


Such a one-sided conflict could not last long. 
The trumpets of the French vanguard were dis- 
tinctly audible when the carriage reached the first 
houses of the villages. At this the boy, to put an 
end to the race, turned to the left, hoping to upset 
the cavalier, and perhaps throw him under the hind 
wheels. But this movement decided his fate in the 
singular struggle. 

The skillful equestrian saved himself by making 
his bay take a monstrous side leap, and profiting 
by the conveyance losing impetus, he dashed at the 
leaders’ heads and commenced to goad them with 
his saber in the flanks. They reared, left the 
straight line, finally wheeled, and getting the bit in 
their teeth, looked the coachman in the face and 
defied him to direct them. Almost lifted off the 
ground by the maddened beasts, the vehicle returned 
like a whirlwind on the route just traversed. 

Cocagne now stiffened his weak arms to control 
the creatures which he had incited before, while the 
Red Hussar, tearing alongside at a fiery gallop, plowed 
up the crupper of the horses. It was like one of those 
wild hunts depicted in old German prints, and the 
scarlet rider resembled Mephistopheles as he careers 
with Faust to the Witches’ Meeting on the evil 
night. 

Mute and spell-bound, the French had witnessed 
this weird spectacle. Not a sound rose from their 
group — not a gun spat fire; brave though they were, 
they were all petrified with surprise and sorrow. 
Still was the contest prolonged, and the heroic boy 


STEEL AND BRASS. 


45 


held out with all his powers; but within twenty 
paces of the wood, snap! went the lines at the 
strained buckle. 

All was over. With increased fury, the Scarlet 
Hussar goaded the team which the lad could no 
longer constrain. With a roar like thunder, the 
coach plunged into the wood-enclosed road through 
the forest and disappeared under the trees. 

The captain and his dragoons stared at each 
other without venturing to speak. Albert quivered 
with more agitation than when he had first heard 
bullets whizz. In his despair the farmer flung down 
his gun, and his haggard eyes rose heavenward as 
though beseeching its power to restore his child. 

‘‘This is carrying the joke too far!” said the capt- 
ain at last with concentrated rage. 

“Ah, and the Parisian joker,” added Ratibal: 
“Burn my boots if he has not snatched him up from 
under our noses. I’d give a year’s pay to see him 
again, the sharp little weasel!” 

“Might we not ride after and overtake the coach, 
captain?” inquired the cornet. 

“Ride, on what?” retorted his superior, ill- 
humoredly. “Do you not see that my poor Talavera 
has received her last blue pill, and that Coco has a 
ruined leg?” 

“I’ll go alone if need be,” quickly returned Al- 
bert. 

“That’s no new way to get yourself killed, and 
the Seventh Dragoons have not too many officers at 
present. Please me by reining in your impatience.” 


46 


STEEL AND BRASS. 


But as the speaker no doubt saw on the youthful 
face what sincere sorrow he felt, he added in a 
milder voice: “My dear Albert, you will have plenty 
of opportunities to have your head split before the 
campaign ends, and those who love you will not for- 
give me pushing you into danger for nothing.” 

At this, the hearer reddened like a girl, for he 
could hardly be accused of home-sickness who was 
without parents, and who had never up to this day 
noticed a woman as worthy ,of love. 

“I thank you for that, young sir,” said the farmer, 
holding out his hand with straightforwardness affect- 
ing the young officer; “to me alone should fall the 
task of avenging my daughter.” 

“I undertake to give you the chance, my honest 
friend,” said Champoreau; “come with me and I 
will put you in some place attached to the army. If 
the Emperor had a hundred thousand trumps like 
you, we would soon turn down these kings and 
knaves. Take my saddle and bridle, Ratibal, put 
them on Coco's back, lead him along, and let’s be 
off.” 

“We shall just nick it, captain,” said the trooper, 
as he executed the orders. “Here’s the pickets of 
our van coming out of Eclaron.” 

The little party crossed the meadow alongside 
the road. Albert did not care to remount, and the 
captain was obliged to him for the courtesy, as the 
death of his charger had temporarily relegated him to 
the infantry. Sad and gloomy, the homeless farmer 
followed. 


CHAPTER III. 


IN THE IMPERIAL PRESENCE. 

When the four reached the main road, the French 
skirmishers were streaming out of the hamlet in ir- 
regular bodies, altogether opposed to the close order 
of the Austrians whom they had lately opposed. 

“Halloa, these are the Marie-Louises,” exclaimed 
Ratibal. 

Boissier recognized the uniform of the Young 
Guard’s flanking companies, thus nicknamed after 
the Empress-Regent, Maria Louisa of Austria, under 
whose patronage they were raised and organized. 
Considering her nationality, this Was a sarcastic fling 
at the alliances which Napoleon had forced the 
rulers of Europe to make with him in his halcyon 
days. These light troops were mostly raw recruits, 
conscripts, or drafted men, weakly and ill-clad, who 
seemed in no condition to dispute with Saxons and 
Teutons. Still the raggedest uniform and the frail- 
est frame may cover an ardent heart, and on these 
smooth faces one might read intelligent reckless- 
ness and joyous courage. They did not march with 
the clockwork movements dear to the old school of 
Melas and Frederick the Great, but swung along 
with a free and easy step, roaring at the top of their 
voices a popular song which accompanied these 
young soldiers into the hottest fire. 


48 IN THE IMPERIAL PRESENCE. 

Friends, when we stop marching, 

It’s Fanchon we’ll toast, 

She works at clear-starching. 

But fun she likes most. 

She’s fond of deep quaffing ’* 

So sang these poor lads who had scarcely any- 
thing to drink or eat over night ; but when they struck 
up the chorus, their laughs and jests burst out with- 
out end: 

‘‘She’s fond of deeit quaffing, good supper. 

Good supper, gay ball. 

And sings when not laughing. 

And that’s like us all!” 

Such a strain on this plain desolated by war rose 
like a protest of the undying Gallic gaiety. These 
jolly scouts passed the little party without paying 
them much heed, being well accustomed to see 
wounded horses and dismounted officers. After the 
outlyers, trotted a squadron of Guides^ with horse- 
pistol in hand, who preceded a cluster of horsemen, 
some of whom wore very splendid uniforms. 

‘‘Here's the Emperor," called out Champoreau 
and Ratibal at the same time. 

Boissier had seen the Emperor in his furred coat, 
in a sledge, on his via dolorosay beyond the Russo- 
Polish border; he had seen him distribute medals 
and diplomas at the college, and also, at a greater 
distance, in the Carrousel square, Paris, reviewing 
troops, the center of a glittering swarm, while the 
regimental brass bands played and the multitude 
cheered. The scenes were altered with a vengeance, 


IN THE IMPERIAL PRESENCE. 


49 


and the return from Russia was almost repeated. 
Napoleon advanced solitarily with his white charger 
going at a walk; the brow seemed weighted with 
care so that the head hung forward, and his body 
showed enervation.^ The small cocked hat was on 
his head as worn by the Imperial Guard Chasseurs, 
with their white and green uniform, but the long- 
skirted riding coat, the redingote gris, concealed his 
epaulets and the medals and decorations. The radi- 
ant Caesar had once more become the plain, stern 
fighting general, shorn of the gold and purple, and 
without the applause, silenced by the cannon roar. 

The staff followed, as moody and silent as the 
supreme chief. So had the youngest soldier seen 
them, with their proud plumes clipped by the bul- 
lets of De Tolly and Kutusoff, swathed in fragments 
of horse blankets, riding scraggy steeds, hurrying 
on from the Cossack lances, with the red fire in the 
east where Moscow had been. Their fagged horses 
now again stretched their necks downward: wearied 
by twenty years of victory, omitting the wreck of 
the Grande Arm^e, these old men bent in the sad- 
dle, and envied this youth, and these boyish begin- 
ners who could sing of love and glory, and of the 
love of glory. In this dreadful campaign, in which 
France threw and lost her last stake, none but the 
young were lightsome. 

When Albert came out of college he leaped for 
joy at donning the fine dress, reminding him of the 
portrait of his father; he dreamed of conquering 
charges, swords flashing in the sunshine, the trump- 


50 


IN THE IMPERIAL PRESENCE. 


ets* sonorous blare, the rattle of the drums, the in- 
toxicating odor of burning gunpowder — but already 
his heart was sinking to see these venerable mar- 
shals stealing by, dull and morose. The picture of 
their trampled country seemed looming up before 
their hopeless eyes, and the young lieutenant under- 
stood soon what was war on one’s own hearth, as 
clearly as Lecomte. He was so depressed that he 
omitted the regulation salute, and the captain was 
obliged to remind him of his duty by a vigorous 
nudge with the elbow. The two officers stood side 
by side on the roadside. A little to the rear, Rati- 
bal held the horses. Leaning on his gun, old Le- 
comte had remained on the meadow, with his eyes 
fixed on the woods where the carriage had disap- 
peared. 

The Emperor stopped his horse and looked the 
dragoon captain squarely in the face. 

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” 
he bluntly demanded. 

“Pierre Champoreau, captain. Seventh Dragoons. 
I come from Spain, and I am to join Milhaud’s di- 
vision.” 

“And this young man?” continued Napoleon, in 
a sharp, well-articulated voice. 

“Sire, my name’s Boissier — Albert, same as my 
father’s, died from wounds received in battle.” He 
had the tact not to particularize. “Your Majesty 
appointed me to the same dragoon regiment a 
month ago.” 

“Your father fell in Russia,” said the great man 



IN THE IMPERIAL PRESENCE. 5 1 

without a break of the voice — that disastrous cam- 
paign was so far distant now. “Would he were 
by your side, and mine, now! But you are also the 
nephew of the banker of that name?” 

“Yes, sire,” with indifference, for, spite of his 
rich uncle's kindness, he had always scorned the 
working-bee who had stayed at home to gather mon- 
ey while the soldier-bee was scorched in the flames 
remote from the hive. 

“He is a sterling patriot, like the other, though 
they served in opposite ways. He has given a hun- 
dred thousand francs to the Treasury, and he asked 
for an epaulet for you. All you have to do is to de- 
serve it.” 

“Sire, I vow I will!” exclaimed the youth in en- 
thusiasm. 

Napoleon let the ghost of a smile steal over his 
marble lineaments; among these tired, silent, almost 
dismal generals, his oldest, it was a joy to see this 
ecstasy of his youngest soldier. 

“How do you both come to be unhorsed?” sud- 
denly inquired the Emperor, after a pause. 

Champoreau judged that the order of grades 
called on him to reply, so he explained: 

“Sire, we were attacked by an Austrian detach- 
ment pillaging the farmhouse yonder on the right, 
and my horse was killed.” 

“I hope you hit back?” 

The captain silently pointed to the corpses strew- 
ing the plain. For an instant the Emperor regarded 
these tokens of bitter resistance, and his eyes 


52 


IN THE IMPERIAL PRESENCE. 


assumed an expression marking more geniality than 
since Russia had been brought into the conversation. 

“How many were you?” he asked. 

“We three, a drummer-boy of the Ninth Foot, 
who was taken prisoner, and this farmer, who fought 
like a soldier.” 

“Step this way,” said the Napoleon to Lecomte, 
who mechanically obeyed. “You are a brave man, 
and I shall give orders for you to be compensated 
for your losses. Ask me for anything you like.” 

“I want only vengeance,” responded Therese’s 
father in a hollow voice. 

The monarch started and fastened on the peas- 
ant the eye accustomed to read the human heart. 

“Were they all cast in this mold, France would 
not need me to save her,” he muttered. 

The son of the soil did not flinch ; he sustained with 
steadiness the glance which had intimidated kings. 

“Do you know the countryside?” inquired Napol- 
eon, after a moment’s thought. 

“For twenty years I have been carrying on the 
corn trade, and there is not a road in Champagne 
that I have not been up and down a hundred times.” 

“Then you know the shortest cut to get through 
the Montier forest?” 

“As well as I know what the Red Hussars and 
the sheep-coats have taken from me,” replied 
Lecomte bitterly. 

“ ’Tis well. I depend on you to serve as guide 
to the army, and you shall go with the vanguard. 
To-morrow you shall have equipment, and I warrant 


IN THE IMPERIAL PRESENCE. 53 

that you shall be set face to face with those who 
burnt your farm.” 

“Thank you, my Emperor,” replied the peasant, 
whose eyes sparkled at the prospect. 

“Captain, ask for a charger of my first groom 
this evening, and meantime, till you can join your 
regiment, serve with this young son of a memorable 
officer, in the cavalry on my escort duty.” 

;‘Yes, sire,” answered Champoreau, with most 
military conciseness. 

Half mad with joy, Albert began to shout: “Long 
live the Emperor!” and Lecomte, who had sudden- 
ly found his spirits again, stepped out briskly to 
catch up with the cavalry of the fore-guard. Napol- 
eon started off at a trot, and the whole staff passed 
rapidly. The cornet was already in the saddle, and 
Ratibal set to loading up Coco with Talavera's 
caparisons. He had not waited for any order to give 
up his horse to his captain. 

“Come, come,” said the latter, “I won’t have you 
try to keep up with the procession on foot. I will 
speak to some military train officer to give you a 
lift in a wagon.” 

“Stop there, sir,” said Ratibal, “a dragoon of the 
Spanish war in a wagon? I never saw such a thing! 

I would rather trudge along, particularly as it is go- 
ing to rain pretty soon, and Coco’s saddle will do 
for an umbrella.” 

He was speaking more correctly than most 
weather prophets, for the sky had clouded, and the 

(Iry and chilly air of the morning changed with the 
4 


54 


IN THE IMPERIAL PRESENCE. 


wind, which was becoming westerly. Ratibal put 
the saddle upon his head and sturdily tramped off, 
exchanging jokes about his headgear with the foot- 
soldiers whom he met. Captain and cornet marched 
in the skirt of the squadrons “ on Imperial service,” 
as the Emperor’s bodyguard was styled; and Cham- 
poreau was instantly recognized by brother officers 
not seen since the 1807 campaign. Albert was as- 
tonished at the cordial simplicity with which t’-‘ese 
veterans of the Napoleonic armies hailed each other 
when meeting after dispersal on all the battle-fields 
of Europe. Whether they came from Spain or Rus- 
sia, they merely called out a name or a nickname, 
grasped hands, and falling into step in time side by 
side, they resumed a chat interrupted years before at 
Eylau or Friedland. He listened with the charm 
of novelty to reminiscences of sunny Salamanca, 
while those of ice-bound Russia awakened memor- 
ies of sadness since the Emperor had called his 
father an officer who dwelt in his mind; these men 
spoke of the far marches as a townsman boasts of a 
trip into the suburbs. One feature deepened his 
sorrow at his loneliness; it showed that he stood not 
alone as a kind of ward to the great general. The 
dialogues brought up terse phases that afforded 
food for the amateur of slaughter. 

^‘What’s become of Gourand, who exchanged 
with you out of the Tenth Lancers?” 

‘‘Killed at Badajoz,” replied Champoreau; in his 
turn inquiring: “Hear anything about Pascal, adju- 
tant-major of the Twenty-fifth?” 


IN THE IMPERIAL PRESENCE. 


55 


“Marked off ‘missing,’ between Smolensko and 
Wilna,” tranquilly rejoined a lieutenant, who was 
old and grey-moustached. 

“Alas,” said Albert, to the surprise of the by- 
standers, who could not conceive how this youth 
could be affected by this tidings. 

But Major Pascal was one of those who had 
shared horsesteak with the boy, and it was while 
rec€^ftnoitering around the bivouac, where a hand- 
ful of soldiers of all arms protected the Son of the 
Regiment, that he was lost among the Cossacks, 
who surrounded these chance encampments like 
robber- wasps the beehives. Needless to say this, 
discovery that the supposed novice had been almost 
cradled on a caisson and nursed on the march, 
placed him in a different light to the fresh youth 
from the college, whom these men, whose school 
was actual warfare, despised. 

A torrential rain came down to damp the enthusi- 
astic welcome. The riders huddled up in their 
cloaks, and thought of nothing but how best to bear 
up against the showers promised during the last 
hour. They were now in the forest, and the road, 
bad enough all along, became abominable. Sud- 
denly soaked, after a long frost, it yielded to the 
hoofs, and the ruts, graven by the German batteries, 
changed into wallows. Albert had much difficulty 
in keeping his horse up, as it slipped at every stride, 
and as the icy chill penetrated to the bone, he fell 
to thinking more and more vividly of his father and 
his mother, victims of a war of invasion, only they 


56 IN THE IMPERIAL PRESENCE. 

were on the losing side. Might he not end as one 
of the defeated likewise? 

Champoreau had lit his pipe and was silently 
puffing. Ratibal and Lecomte, going with the van- 
guard, had been lost to sight. 

It took five hours to flounder through the wood- 
land, and night was closing as they reached Montier- 
in-Der. This large village bore traces of an army’s 
passage, and all was in the most frightful disorder. 
The chief officers had much trouble to get lodgings, 
and most had to content themselves with an inn’s 
main room, out of which the doors and windows had 
.been torn away. They gathered before a large fire 
fed with broken stuff of all sorts, and each set to 
drying his garments. 

Stiff from cold, Boissier had not a thought for 
the morning’s events when his eyes caught an inscrip- 
tion scratched with the prong of a broken fork, or 
the like instrument on the mantel-piece skirting- . 
board. Mechanically approaching he read as fol- 
lows: 

‘T am Therese Lecomte of Eclaron: abducted by 
Austrian General Krumer; taken to Brienne.*’ 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE MILITARY FOP. 

Assuredly, Albert had not fallen in love with the 
girl, just visible through the musket smoke, still he 
was so young that a heroine completed the poetic 
side of a picture, in which the background and hor- 
nfic features were too prominent. His mother was 
a vision of pathetic grace, and his earliest acquaint- 
ances of the sex were the ministering angels of the 
hospitals on that long line of refuges for the wound- 
ed from the banks of the Borodino to those of the 
Seine. He respected all women, and admired such 
devotees of the religion of humanity. 

The girl had traced this appeal for her father, or 
at least, for the peasants with whom she had been 
reared; scarcely for the officers whom she hardly 
had known to be trying to rescue her. But it was 
well for the young officer to have his country per- 
sonified by this country lass. 

He imagined her pent up in Brienne, bullied 
by the blustering soldiers from whom he was des- 
tined to deliver her by some daring if not very sub- 
tile stroke of war. He would appear with uplifted 
saber, and she would rush toward him in one of 
those semi-classical attitudes shown in the prints 
after David, of the period. 

The captain’s rough voice broke in to throw some 
coolness on the rising flame which colored the fancy. 

67 


58 




THE MILITARY FOP. 


“Well, my boy, what do you think of the broth?” 
with a broad laugh; “I suppose you can decide 
whether it is mutton, or horseflesh, like that you re- 
galed on in the White Czar’s hospitable realm.” 

“I am quarreling with nothing, captain; I was wet, 
but my cold has gone and I am ready to begin again.” 

He shivered, but it would be most ridiculous to 
show his feelings before these hardy soldiers who 
kindly regarded him as a son of their own. He stood 
upright with a clank of his sword. He also thought 
fit to keep to himself the sentimental ideas filling 
his head, and he refrained from pointing out the in- 
scription. 

“To-morrow,” he thought, “I will warn Father 
Lecomte, and aid him to recover his daughter.” 

“That’s the talk, youngster,” said Champoreau; 
“traveling shapes youth, and before three months 
you will sleep at a camp-fire like an old one. Mean- 
while, I want to know what we shall have for supper.” 

This prosaic reflection reminded his pupil that he 
had not eaten since morning and was dying of 
hunger. The dragoon’s uneasiness was shared by 
all his fellow-officers, and there was a chorus of im- 
precations against the enemy for having ravaged the 
country before they could despoil the peasants. 

“Any one can see that they are playing the return- 
march,” observed an old captain of skirmishers; 
“they are treating us as we did them in i8o6.” 

“Bah! they would act just the same if we had 
respected their fields and barns,” retorted his lieu- 
tenant. V 


THE MILITARY FOP. 


59 


*‘To tell you gentlemen the truth/’ said Cham- 
poreau, “we were no better off in Spain. I learnt in 
that dog’s own country to draw my belt tighter every 
night when the rations were short, and those days 
came around altogether too frequently. But I 
should not care if my orderly were only here — he’s 
the sutler'to provide victuals!” 

“Indeed, what has become of him and the country- 
man?” asked the cornet, looking for some round- 
about way of inquiring after Therese’s father. 

“He is hunting for us, of course; and with such 
weather as I would not shut the door on old Marshal 
Blucher himself, he will have his work cut out to 
find us.” 

“ Pshaw! our rifles are riflmg in the suburbs,” 
responded a light infantry officer, “and they will drop 
in some time with chickens and bacon.” 

“I hope so,” said Champoreau, persistently, “but 
I would rather have my good old Ratibal here.” 

“Present, captain!” said a ringing voice, as the 
dragoon showed himself in the doorless doorway. 

His sudden appearance was hailed with general 
glee on its being seen what he brought. A fat hare 
swung at Coco’s stirrup-iron, as the soldier carried 
the saddle on his head; in addition, he held a bag 
in one hand which was knobbed with vegetables and 
potatoes. 

“What do you think of the dragoons who warred 
in Spain, gentlemen?” cried the triumphant Cham- 
poreau. 

“Long live Ratibal!” shouted the officers in unison. 


6o 


THE MILITARY FOP. 


'‘I knocked the hare over in its form in the 
woods, and our farmer comrade put me on to a house 
in the village where I should capture some.” 

'‘Lecomte?” eagerly inquired Albert, *‘why has 
he not come in with you?” 

“He could not, officer of mine,” rejoined Ratibal, 
blinking one eye and speaking with a knowing air; 
“he is in the Emperor’s presence this quarter of an 
hour, questioned about the lay of the land. Our tur- 
nip grower seems to be cute, and knows a road by 
which we will make a short cut to catch the enemy.” 

“ Unless they make away during the night,” 
grumbled Champoreau. 

“I must see the peasant again before we leave 
this,” muttered the cornet, building the finest pro- 
jects for the rescue of his first heroine. 

“Room for the high cook!” gaily called out the 
captain, standing back from the fireside. 

Ratibal was already beginning the preliminaries 
for the feast with ardor and dexterity, which were 
of good augury. The prospect of a hearty meal had 
restored good humor, and the chat revived merrily. 
The youngest present listened religiously to military 
tales which might lack literary form but had plenty 
of appropriate color. The finale was the Invasion 
and the chances of the war. Not one doubted the 
French would win, and the youth was particularly 
struck by the old war-dogs who had had been chased 
out of Russia, like himself, never despairing of the 
Chief conquered there^- by “General Winter.” In 
Paris, he had heard quite other language, and his 


THE MILITARY FOP. 


6l 


uncle had been considered hasty in making a dona- 
tion to the treasury for the sake of the hero at bay, 
for whom his brother had died. 

“Asking your pardon, gentlemen,’’ broke in a 
shrill voice behind the conversationalists, “can I find 
a place at your fire without putting anybody to in- 
convenience?” 

The half-circle before the fireplace parted to let 
an odd character pass through. He was a tall young 
man, with his lengthy frame enfolded in a long, full, 
blue horseman’s cloak. His mealy, flabby counte- 
nance expressed dullness, silliness and vanity so plain- 
ly that the officers glanced at one another in consul- 
tation, whether they ought not to revoke the favor 
and expel the intruder for his face’s sake. 

“G-g-gentlemen,” stammered the new comer, for 
he was so cold that he shook to the edge of his lips 
so that he could hardly speak, “I am an officer 1-1- 
like yourselves, his majesty having^ appointed me, 
without asking if it suited, and I am to join the 
twelfth Hussars.” 

“Another gold-washed leaden coin,” muttered 
Champoreau, “go it!” for he did not like these 
sons of noble or wealthy families, who were pitch- 
forked into officerships in cavalry regiments. Albert 
was an exception, for he believed that the Em- 
peror esteemed more highly the father’s valor, 
than the banker-uncle’s thousands, though it is 
debatable whether the latter were not more accept- 
able, certainly more tangible to quiet contractors 
with than the memory of valiant deeds at this 


62 


THE MILITARY FOP. 


emergency. The new recruit had no points in 
common with the pupil of Champoreau. The latter 
had a fine appearance in the dragoon's uniform, but 
the other’s pitiable mienill-consorted with the jaunt- 
iness and fantasy of the hussar’s. In all his garb 
was the neglect and the overdressing betraying the 
town fop’s self-satisfaction. On examining this bran 
new outfit, knocked out of shape by the incidents of 
the journey to join his colors, one imagined under 
it the dandy of the period, in punch-flame waist- 
coat, cinnamon coat and walnut pants, the flower of 
elegance in 1814. 

This amusing person stared around him with 
wondering eyes which finally fell upon Boissier. 

“I suppose I can’t be wrong,” he faltered, “but 
have I not the honor to address M. Albert Boissier, 
nephew of the banker of that name in the Rue Mont 
Blanc — ” 

“ The same,^sir, ” replied Albert dryly, for he 
was not delighted by the recognition. 

“Do you not remember we were school-fellows at 
the Lyceum. I am Agenor; Agenor Panardel; don’t 
you remember now?” 

“Nothing of the sort,” returned the cornet, more 
and more coldly. 

“How remarkable! I thought myself fairly well 
known in the world of fashion, too, and among the 
wealthy, also, for my father, who made a mint of 
money in — in the colonial trade (he came near say- 
ing, the slave trade) is rather rich; he twice bought 
substitutes to serve for me in the army.” 


THE MILITARY FOP. 


63 




“But I see you would not be thwarted any longer; 
you have become a sub-lieutenant, spite of him,” 
Champoreau ironically commented. 

“Oh, it was not my fault, and if I could have 
eluded it again I — ” 

“I am fully convinced,” replied the old officer, 
gnawing his moustache; “but allow me to ask if your 
patriotic papa, who is so well off in colonial stores, 
remembered to put a few bottles of Jamaica rum in 
your saddle bags?” 

“Sorry to say that he did not,” sighed the gay 
hussar, giving a sidelong look at the roasting hare 
and the potatoes baking in the hot ashes; “but I have 
plenty of money, gentlemen, and I am ready to pay 
my share of the bill.” 

“How now? M. Agenor Panardel” roared the fur- 
ious captain, “do you take a captain of the Seventh 
Dragoons for a sham-officer hired to cut a figure at 
a boarding-house table?” 

On this terrible outburst the colonial trader’s 
unfortunate scion lost countenance and began to 
babble apologies. 

“Zounds!” still thundered the veteran, “do you 
believe you have any right to take better care of 
your carcass than we of ours, because you are a gro- 
cer’s son? Do you fancy you can cut a dash as a 
hussar commander without getting a nick over the 
nose or an eye put out?” 

“I do not want to command hussars or any- 
thing,” faltered Panardel, abashed. 

“I never thought you did! Egad! You are fitter 



■" ' 'A l-' r -. ■ . ■ ■ .V 1 ■' 


64 


THE MILITARY FOP. 


to lead a charge of the wooden horses of the round- 
about in the parks! If France had many champions 
of your quality, the enemy would be at the gates of 
Paris/’ 

In proportion to Champoreau’s heat the prudent 
hussar edged toward the door, and he might have 
succeeded in darting out of it had he not been jos- 
tled by a soldier who rushed in, with a sealed 
despatch in his hand. 

'‘Is Captain Champoreau of the Seventh Dra- 
goons here?” he asked. 

“I am the man,” answered the captain sharply. 

“An order from the major-general,” said the 
orderly, holding out the message. 

“A thousand thunderbolts,” roared the dragoon, 
“I bet that I shall lose my supper.” He read the 
letter. “I was sure of it. I come in worn out, 
have the luck to light upon jolly fellows, and a 
hot supper is just coming on the table, when — 
devil take it! I am ordered to set off on the march 
again!” 

“What, must you go?” inquired Albert. 

“Rather — on a confidential mission,” grumbled 
Champoreau; “I know what that means, and for all 
that I shall get by it, I am willing to transfer it to 
another.” 

The cornet began to understand why these old 
soldiers were nicknamed the “soreheads,” for their 
grumbling. 

“Why, captain, if you think I am fit to replace 
you, I am quite willing,” he said timidly. 



THE MILITARY FOP. 65 

Instead of calming the growler, this obliging 
offer only doubled his ill-humor. 

“Heyday! do you think I would evade a regular 
order? However, if you are in such a fever to be 
marching, this will suit you, for you were to come 
along anyway.” 

“I?” said the astonished youth. 

“Just you! Listen to this, which is clear enough 
for the blind,” continued the captain, reading the 
official order: 

“Captain Champoreau will take with him Sub- 
lieutenant Boissier, and another of the same rank at 
his choice, among those not yet attached to their 
regiments.” 

“Whereabouts are they sending us, captain?” 

“You are very inquisitive. I don’t know any- 
thing about it myself.” 

Unaccustomed to the laconism of war-office 
orders, the youth was confounded. Champoreau 
was chewing his moustache with vexation and let- • 
ting his eyes wander round him with fury, when they 
happened to fall on the luckless Panardel. He had 
profited by the diversion to step softly into the 
street to elude the captain’s anger, when the roaring 
voice riveted him to the spot. 

“Halt! Sub-lieutenant Panardel, make ready to 
mount your horses!” 

“But, captain, my regiment does not come up till 
to-morrow,” whined the young man piteously. 

“To-morrow is not this evening — and in the inter- 
val, I select you for this night service.” 


66 


THE MILITARY FOP. 


Panardel did not dare breathe a syllable, and 
satisfied with this outlet, Champoreau melted a little. 

“Dear old comrade, we are not going to let you 
go famished,'' said one of the officers. 

“The potatoes are done," said Ratibal. 

“Very timely, for I am to take you, too." 

“How about horses, captain?" 

“Four fresh ones are at the door, brought by the 
orderly. Cram into the sack something to munch 
in the saddle, and let us be off. The boys will not 
have their appetites spoiled by our absence," con- 
cluded the dragoon, as he regretfully eyed the hare 
on the spit. 

The officers came to shake hands with him, but 
their mouths were watering too freely for them to 
put any questions. At such times heroism is simple. 
Thus to start out was very natural to men risking 
their lives every day. Panardel was not of their way 
of thinking, and he blamed his gluttony for having 
led him into this doleful adventure. But all in vain 
did he cudgel his wits; he could not see anyway out 
of it. There was no trifling then with discipline, 
and he understood that all the colonial merchandise 
in his father's storage houses would not prevent his 
being haled before the council of war in case of re- 
fusal of service. Having no alternative, he resigned 
himself. 

Albert was ready from the captain's first words.' 
He did not quit the hot fire and the appetizing feast 
without regret, but yet he felt proud at having been 
designated for the perilous errand, and had a vague 


THE MILITARY FOP. 6/ 

presentiment that it would be interlocked with the 
late romantic incident. 

Champoreau rapidly reviewed his little troop, lit 
his pipe with the philosophy of an old hand, and 
proceeded out of the doorway with an eye askant 
upon Panardel. 

In the street four fully-equipped horses were 
waiting, held by as many Imperial guides. The 
cavalrymen examined them like a judge, and saw 
with satisfaction that good steeds had been chosen, 
vigorous and well rested, so that they might do 
much work in a short time. Each had a porteman- 
teau at the hooks and pistols bulged out the holsters. 

“Capital ! the staff do their work first-rate,” the 
captain muttered, “and it is a pleasure to charge into 
a sheaf of bayonets on horses like these.” 

Twenty campaigns in the cavalry had notably 
augmented the speaker's flesh, so he selected a dark 
bay with broad chest and short loins, apparently 
able to carry his weight. For Albert, who weighed 
little more than a jockey, he picked out a foxy red 
horse with fine legs and crane neck, which might 
readily do fifteen miles an hour, and he let Panardel 
and Ratibal settle between themselves about the last 
pair, good ones equally. 

Agenor sighed as he bestrode his, but the de- 
lighted trooper declared that he had never had a 
better bit of horse-flesh between his boots. 

“Where is our guide?” called out the captain 
when all were mounted. 

A horseman who had previously kept in the 


68 


THE MILITARY FOP. 


shadow came forward. The darkness prevented his 
features being discerned, but he wore a slouch hat 
so far from military shape that the martinet began 
to frown at being put under a civilian’s orders for a 
time, when the stranger saluted him, saying: 

^T am your man, captain.” 

Albert started on recognizing Lecomte’s voice. 

'‘Ha, ha!” ejaculated the leader, “it’s our rural 
friend of fresh acquaintance. I suspected what was 
coming and I am not sorry, for he does not flinch 
under fire. Come hither my honest friend, and let 
us have a bit of a talk. The order says I am to 
reach the River Aube yia Soulaines, Chaumesnil and 
Larothiere, go down to Brienne and bring back a 
report to-morrow to headquarters on the enemy’s 
position. I will take care of the military part of the 
task, but the route must be your business. I know 
more about the two Castiles than Champagne.” 

“You may rely upon me, captain,” said Lecomte 
in a firm voice. 

“Then take the lead, and off we go,” said Cham- 
poreau. 

The rain had ceased, but it was a dark, cold 
night. Fog steamed from the soaked ground and 
the roads were shocking. 

A hundred paces from Montier they passed the 
outposts, and Boissier had a fresh occasion to ad- 
mire the young conscripts, undersized and underfed, 
who slept soundly in the mire around the almost 
damped-out camp fires., 

The little party took the road in an order reason 


THE MILITARY FOP. 


69 


dictated; at the head the guide, between two of the 
escort; as a second rank, the captain and his two 
officers; as the rear-guard, Ratibal and the two 
riders of the Guides. Boissier would have preferred 
another arrangement, as he was fretting to iBommuni- 
cate to the grieving father the clue he had read on 
the inn mantel board; but it was no proper time, and 
he had to resign himself until a better opening. 

Nobody was in the mood to talk. 

The captain silently smcjk'ed, and Panardel re- 
vealed his presence solely by the moans bumped out 
of him when his horse stumbled and shook him. 

The village they quitted was situated on the 
forest edge, and a few clumps of trees sprinkled the 
plain on which they rode. As the road was not 
quite so plowed up, the captain quickened his pace. 
The party trotted on for two hours without seeing a 
light. Still it was not so very late, and houses were 
to be seen in the fields; but the inmates had no 
doubt been frightened away, as they did not hear 
the barking of watch-dogs, common on farms in all 
countries. Gradually the ground changed in char- 
acter and the road began to wind up a hillside. On 
the right, dark masses loomed up. They were enter- 
ing a wooded region. 

“Halt!’* commanded the captain, deeming it the 
time for a council. 

The guide understood, for he came back to 
him. 

“Where are we?” demanded Champoreau. 

“A mile and a half from Soulaines. Presently we 


70 


THE MILITARY FOP. 


shall leave the crossroad and strike plump on the 
causeway between Doulevent and Brienne.” 

“Keep your eye open, then, for Blucher and the 
Prussians were to cross the river there to-day.” 

“Blucher ought to have been on the river yester- 
day. It was the Austrians who formed the extreme 
rear-guard, and cover him.” 

This advice excited Boissier's attention. 

“The rumor was that General Krumer was in 
command.” 

Krumer! The romantic youth thought at once 
that they might indeed meet the abductor of 
Therese. 

“Krumer or Blucher, they are both enemies,” 
said the dragoon, “and now we must move in mili- 
tary order. Close up the column, gentlemen.” 

The squad surrounded him and waited for orders. 

“Cornet Boissier,” went on the leader with the 
curt accent he reserved for weighty occasions, “I 
am going to send you out on scout.” 

Albert started with surprise and he would have 
been seen to blush if the darkness had not been so 
dense. 

“Dismount; loosen your belt, throw off your 
cloak, take your pistols out of the holsters.” 

He briskly executed the command. 

“Now, dive into the thicket and try to get close 
to the enemy’s bivouac, without being caught. I 
give you twenty minutes to make the reconnaissance, 
and bring in the report We shall see if you inherit 
the soldier’s comprehensive look.” 


THE MILITARY FOP, 7I 

*‘ril do my utmost, captain,’’ said the youth, 
crossing the road. 

“If they run at you with the cold steel, fire your 
pistols to notify us to dash off and save ourselves.” 

“I guessed that, captain,” replied the cornet in a 
voice rather marred in smoothness by emotion. 

“That boy will shape well in time,” uttered 
Champoreau, who, in spite of his apparent roughness, 
studied his pupil with marked interest. 

• Agenor, who was keeping himself well behind 
his horse, having dismounted like the others to rest, 
raised his eyes to heaven and muttered: 

“What a piece of good luck that this Turk did 
not pitch upon me!” 


CHAPTER V. 


THE SCOUT AND THE CHASE. 

The young dragoon climbed the roadside bank 
and plunged into the underbrush. He had borne 
himself manfully before the soldiers, but he was 
deeply agitated. The captain’s final address still 
rang in his ears and recalled the classical story of 
the Chevalier d’Assas, heroically giving the alarm 
to save the army from surprise, though surely to be 
slain himself. He felt no fear, but he was in the 
fever known to old soldiers as a flurry, analogous to 
the fright of novices on the stage or before large 
game. The morning’s skirmish was not wanted to 
teach him not to duck his head to bullets, but it had 
not hardened him toward invisible dangers. He 
would have chosen a risk of bullets in the broad 
daylight to those from the unseen foe, perhaps hid- 
ing in the bushes of this sober wood. 

Still,young though he was, he had resolved to offer 
up his life like his father had done, for glory. This 
word, turned into ridicule by burlesque verse since, 
was in full splendor in 1814. The bulletins of the 
Grande Armee were read out to school children, the 
country was believed in, and the race of exquisites 
had not produced many examples like Panardel. 

So the youth kept straight on, bending his body, 
and stretching his gauntleted hands before him to 

72 


THE SCOUT AND THE CHASE. 


73 


push aside the brambles from his cheeks. Under 
his boots the dry leaves squeaked and crackled, but 
the west wind roughly shook the old trees and 
drowned the tread of his feet in the sullen sough 
under the swaying limbs. The lower boughs caught 
the glimmer of watchfires, but the undergrowth was 
too thick for the scout to see the bivouac. 

He increased his wariness as he neared the dan- 
ger, and was on his hands and knees as he threaded 
the last screen separating him from the encamp- 
ment. 

At length, thrusting his head through the shrubs, 
he fully perceived a sight which would have been 
curious and entertaining under other circumstances. 

The Germans from all lands had established 
themselves in a vast clearing illumined by their 
campfires. Around these piles on which whole trees 
were cast, the soldiers of the coalition against Na- 
poleon, collected in small groups, were merrily and 
variously engaged. Some looked after sheep roast- 
ing on ramrods which certainly they had not paid 
the owners for; others crowded around casks of wine 
stove in and emptied by the tin cupfuls; some were 
dancing as men dance in the Black Forest, the Tyrol 
and even Wallachia, with the accompaniment of 
their own voices. It closely resembled the lively 
pictures of a Flemish Kermess. 

The youth, fresh from the scanty supper of the 
French officers compelled to have some respect for 
their own countrymen’s produce, contrasted the home 
guards fasting with this gorging of the invaders, 


74 


THE SCOUT AND THE CHASE, 


and he could see in it a realization of the Huns 
flooding Europe. But it was no time for musing, 
and he had to fulfill his errand. 

He understood how important it was that his 
superior should know[above all what was the strength 
of the body before Soulaines. It was difficult to 
calculate from the spot where he had stopped. The 
camp fires ran along far into the forest and at the 
end of the clearing, horses and guns might be dis- 
cerned, he believed. If artillery, it would be at 
least a division, but Albert determined to make sure. 

He resumed creeping toward the bivouac, using 
every bush to screen him, and without hindrance 
reached the border of the open space, where he 
could view the whole scene. Beyond the marching 
regiments were camped a squadron of Scarlet Hus- 
sars and a battery of six field-pieces. No more 
doubt could be had about the importance of the 
corps, and the happy novice might have returned to 
make his report when, a hundred paces on his left 
he noticed a brighter fire than the others. A ring of 
officers stood around the flames, before the opening 
of the only tent, surmounted by the Austrian and 
Prussian colors side by side; the interior was brill- 
iantly lighted up. Albert was near enough with his 
young eyes to distinguish three persons sitting at a 
table. Strange at a war bivouac, the middle place 
was held by a woman in a showy dress, who did the 
honors. On her right was a man whose side-face 
alone was presented to the scout, but his decora- 
tions sparkled like stars in the sky. 


THE SCOUT AND THE CHASE. 


75 


“This looks like the senior general in command,” 
reasoned the youth; “he is reckoning on staying 
awhile in France, say, in Paris, for he has brought 
his wife with him. 

The guest was a tall young man whom he had 
little difficulty in remembering. 

“Why, it's that Red Hussar who drove the 
calash off,” muttered the sub-lieutenant, stupefied. 

What had he done with the captive? 

While putting this question to himself a white 
figure was outlined on the shadow within the tent, 
and he guessed that it was the farmer’s daughter. 
She was standing behind the table, and the reason 
for her presence was not hard to define; she was 
waiting on the supper party. 

Fallen out of the realm of romance, Albert was 
forced to admit that her captivity was explicable by 
a most prosaic reason. But other ideas came soon 
into his exalted brain. 

“What could she do alone against numbers?” he 
thought, with profound feeling. 

A touching incident came to prove that she had 
been forced in to menial service. The watcher was 
too far from the feasters to hear any words, but he 
did not lose any of their gestures. He saw the 
general take up a champagne glass and hold it out 
toward Therese, who stood motionless. 

“He wants to make her drink to the downfall of 
her country!” muttered Albert, quivering with in- 
dignation. 

And losing all self-command as he saw the 


76 


THE SCOUT AND THE CHASE. 


glass almost thrust into the girl’s marble-like and 
unflinching face, he suddenly felt his hand become 
excessively rigid as he lifted the long pistol with 
which he had been fidgeting, and, with the coolness 
of his shooting in the college gallery, he fired. The 
bullet was marvelously well-aimed, indeed, for it 
shivered the glass stem just above the general’s 
fingers, as Therese luckily recoiled with disdain, and 
so saved her face from even one of the fine splinters. 

This rash shot drew from the two officers cries of 
surprise, while the sentries, here and there, shouted: 
^'Wer da? who goes there?” and blazed away at the 
flash. 

Luckily it went off where all the light shone, and 
the imprudent dragoon had also comprehended the 
challenge; he dropped on his breast and hid behind 
a stump which had freshly furnished its trunk to 
those fires. It was well for him that he was so 
quick, for twenty bullets impinged around him and 
one cut a twig not two inches above his heimet. 
The general discharge had aroused the camp. The 
supper tent was shut up at once by the canvas flap, 
and the revelers disappeared like characters in a 
shadow-play when the light is covered. The general 
had no intention of being a rifle butt, and the 
officers around the fire were running to their posts. 

At the same time, all the sentinels on the edge 
of the clearing repeated the firing, as they had re- 
loaded; so much the better as the smoke filled the 
air in addition to that from the fires. Shielded by 
the stump, the youth who had excited this salvo, 


THE SCOUT AND THE CHASE. 


77 


took a grim pleasure in listening to the grisly song 
of the lead, very melancholy when one is the object 
of them. He never forgets it. 

A pretty way he was carrying out his commis- 
sion! He had thought a good deal more of the girl 
than of the account to be rendered to his captain. 

The movement in the camp soon recalled him to 
the gravity of his situation. The soldiers had sprung 
to the stacks of muskets, and what was more dis- 
quieting, the hussars were mounting. The cornet re- 
membered none too soon that his comrades were 
awaiting him on the road, and he ran at the top of 
his speed through the woods, no easy matter in the 
dark, in high boots, and where was all unfamiliar. 

“It would serve me right if they dashed off at 
once when they heard the alarm,'* he muttered, as 
he bounded like a buck over the lower bushes. He 
believed he heard the clank behind him of sabers 
against the stirrup irons, but for more assurance of 
sending the signal in time, he shouted with all his 
lung power: 

“Here I am, captain!" and at almost the same 
time he leaped down on the road. 

He was afraid that they had remarked that the 
pistol shot antedated the musket fire; but all Cham- 
poreau said was: 

“Make haste, and don’t be so noisy over it.*' 

All the others were in the saddle; and Ratibal 
held the spare horse ready for Albert who sprang 
up without touching the stirrup. 

“Here’s your sword and belt,’’ went on the cap- 


78 


THE SCOUT AND THE CHASE. 


tain in a voice which had become perfectly calm; 
'‘buckle on, put up your pistols, and tell me what is 
yonder.” 

“Therese — she is there — in the general’s tent,” 
faltered the scout, scarcely recovering breath. 

“What are you dinning into me about Therese?” 
exclaimed the old dragoon; “did I send you out to 
reconnoitre girls’ schools?” 

“But I mean the prisoner in the calash — your 
daughter,” continued Albert, turning to Farmer 
Lecomte. 

“Cornet Boissier,” severely said Champoreau, “I 
order you to answer to the point. What is the force 
of the foreign detachment?” 

“Captain, I saw cavalry and field pieces. I 
reckon a division is there at least.” 

“Very well; the horse will be upon us in five 
minutes, and your babble will perhaps cost us our 
lives.” 

“But, captain,” stammered the cornet, glad at 
least that the whole truth had not come out. 

Champoreau was not listening; he had turned to 
Lecomte to ask: “Is there any road straight to 
Chaumesnil. without meeting these pursuers?’ 

On hearing his daughter’s name, the pilot had 
turned pale, but he had not made a movement to 
quit the ranks, and he simply replied: 

“We may go by the Soulaines causeway, but we 
must not lose a second.” 

On seeing this farmer forget his paternal sorrows 
in order to think solely of his country, Boissier 


THE SCOUT AND THE CHASE. 


79 


comprehended that true heroism is to be met later 
than in ancient history. 

“Come along, boys — and you must race for it — 
at the charging gallop!” shouted the. captain; “keep 
knee to knee with me, young sir, if you want me to 
overlook your pretty report. Only to think,” he 
grumbled to himself, as he gave his steed the rein, 
“this is one of the promising lot, and has the right 
strain in him, and yet all he sees is woman when he 
goes out on scout. What can they teach these 
greenhorns at military colleges, anyway?” 

The fusillade had ceased, but other sounds of 
evil omen arose from the hostile camp. Calls of 
command sounded amid sonorous neighs, and it was 
evident that the light cavalry would be sent out to 
investigate the thicket. One of the parties was al- 
ready exploring the covert where the spy had been 
concealed. They could hear their horses snorting. 
The French were well enough ahead not to fear 
them, and were, besides, better mounted. They 
dashed off at full speed, and in a twinkling arrived 
at the road crossing another. On the left might be 
seen the apparently abandoned burgh of Soulaines, 
while on the other were the fires of the enemy’s 
bivouacs. Here was the difficult pass to take. 

The state of the ground did not allow them to 
turn into the village, and on the other side they 
might be taken in flank. But if they succeeded in 
passing the woods, they would reach a broad plain 
where the light cavalry might be distanced on so 
black a night. 


8o 


THE SCOUT AND THE CHASE. 


Champoreau had closed up his men into a serried 
column; and he galloped at the head with Albert 
and the guide. Panardel, who longed to be on the 
further edge, was in the center beside Ratibal, where 
he never ceased to curse inaudibly at the stroke of 
fate which had placed him under so terrible a cap- 
tain. He was the more vexed as he had scarcely 
sniffed at the supper which had lured him into the 
snare, and he was dying of hunger. 

When the halt was made to let Boissier go on 
reconnaissance, our unhappy Agenor briefly enter- 
tained the hope that the chief would have the food 
distributed which Ratibal had provided, but the old 
dragoon had said not a word about eating, and the 
alarm had come to cut any gastronomical desires 
short. In spite of his wishes, the new-fledged hussar 
galloped on with an empty stomach, and he believed 
this would indispose him for heroic deeds. The 
consequence was that Ratibal watched him out of 
the corner of his eye, foreseeing that he had not the 
makings of a good soldier. 

They went over three hundred yards of the way 
without impediment. The hussars were distanced, 
and Champoreau was curling his moustache in 
token of triumph, when a black body rose up at the 
corner of the woods. 

‘‘By Jupiter! they are there!'' gasped the officer. 

He saw only too clearly: the Germans had man- 
euvered very adroitly. While a squad had followed the 
fugitives along the cross-road, the main body had cut 
across by the shortest line to block the Soulaines road. 


THE SCOUT AND THE CHASE. 8 1 

The little band was hemmed in. To turn and 
renounce the rest of the course was to lose the bene- 
fit obtained. Better, too, to try to cut through 
the troop opposed to them than flee to one side, 
where the infantry would have time to cut off the 
retreat. 

Champoreau did not baulk at a decision for a 
moment. 

“Draw, and at them, my lads!” he said, flashing 
out his saber; “those are the hussars, and we must 
ride over them. 

Closely pressed together, the nine heavy cavalry- 
men came down with the swiftness of a broken 
waterspout upon the light horse. Panardel, solidly ^ 
embedded in the band, had to obey the movement, 
and Lecomte brandished over his head a heavy staff, 
which was the only weapon he bore. Not expect- 
ing this united dash, the light cavalry were ill-pre- 
pared to receive the charge. Their line was too 
extended, and not deep enough to resist so compact 
a mass, and the latter went through it like a cannon 
ball. Intoxicated by the burst of speed, Boissier 
closed his eyes as he heard the wind roaring in his 
ears and as he thrust at the foe, when all but upon 
their swords. He felt a violent shock to his horse 
and another on his helm, but he had seen nothing, 
and he did not clearly know where he was when he 
heard the captain shout: 

“Well done, youngster! Now then, ply knee 
and hand, and make your best time.” 

He turned, and saw by his side Lecomte, Cham- 


82 


THE SCOUT AND THE CHASE. 


poreau a little behind him, and the rest of the troop 
galloping at their heels, mixed with the hussars, 
who were following with wild screams in the Croatian 
tongue. But none stayed to fence with them; the 
question was one of swiftness. Each rider’s safety 
depended on his horse’s hoofs. Albert believed he 
might rely on his, which strode with incredible 
speed, and all he thought of was not to take the 
lead. The road was level and the gloom rather 
thick. Vaguely they distinguished the profile of the 
leafless lindens standing along the ditch like senti- 
nels of a giant army. 

Behind him he heard the hoofs throwing up the 
pebbles, a sharp rattling punctuated from time to time 
by the crack of pistol shots, or with a shrill yell, or 
a dull groan, as some one fell off his horse. The 
little squad lessened in number, while still the 
scarlet riders came on apace. 

But the captain and the farmer kept in line, and 
the cornet looked to them. 

Suddenly a roar of rage burst out on his sword- 
hand: 

^‘Thunder!” It was his captain. “My horse is hit 
— I am gone down!” 

Albert was going to rein in, when the voice 
continued: 

“Cornet of the Seventh Dragoons, I transfer to 
you the command, and order you to finish the re- 
connaissance.” 

The pursuers were coming up in a body. There 
was a formidable crash, and out of the medley of 


THE SCOUT AND THE CHASE. 83 

clashing steel Albert, driving in his spurs, heard 
these words still: 

“The order ran: Chaumesnil, Larothiere, and 
return to headquarters by way of Brienne.*’ 

In falling, the true soldier thought only of his 
orders. 


CHAPTER VI. 


all’s fair in war. 

The young commander profited by the disorder 
following the leader’s fall to get a good lead. The 
final words had aroused in him a probably innate 
military instinct, that of soldierly duty. The youth 
understood that true courage may sometimes show 
itself when fleeing before the foe, 

‘T have a task,” he mused, ‘'and must carry it out 
at any cost.” 

He did not wonder how he was to extricate him- 
self from the innumerable perplexities of a nocturnal 
scout, in a country where he had never been. Cham- 
poreau had bidden him to “go ahead!” and on he 
galloped as fast as his horse would carry him. The 
noble beast devoured space, as poets say, but the 
enemy were again in full chase, and their wild yells 
could be plainly heard. 

“They have killed the poor captain,” he medi- 
tated, and his heart was wrung at the thought that 
he ought to have defended him. 

He had but to look back to see that the red 
horsemen were racing in a large body; their horses 
were not as good on the heavy soil as his, but they 
were in the greater number. By keeping the dis- 
tance, all might go fairly, but the victory depended 

on his not making a slip. Moreover, the road was 
84 


all’s fair in war. 


8s 


no longer straight and smooth; it began to wind over 
the plain as country roads will do, and by the feeble 
starlight it was plain that pools of water bordered 
the highway. It ran through a swamp, and any one 
riding off the beaten track would Intercept him who 
kept to the set way. 

Boissier would not try the trick from his ignor- 
ance of the land, but the hussars were in sufficient 
force to risk the feat. There lay the worst 
danger, as the young commander saw so well that he ' 
never ceased to keep his eye on the plain. 

After five minutes of this racing he believed that 
the pursuing column opened out a little. Each man 
was riding his own way and the better riders were 
coming to the front. Soon one of them darted away 
from the ranks and cut across the bow of the road in 
order to- strike it again so as to bar it to the on- 
comers. 

“If I do not get him out of that, I am lost!” said 
Albert to himself, as he cocked the pistol he had not 
fired. 

This man from the rear crossed the marsh without 
the least hesitation and was bound to anticipate the 
cornet, who had only the resource of riding him 
down. But at this juncture a second cavalier also 
left the road and took to the swampy ground. Only 
he leaped to the opposite side to that chosen by the 
former. 

“This is lovely,” said the young officer, “this one 
is going to waylay me a little further on.” 

Now he had two to kill, and but one pistol; he 


86 


All*s fair in war. 


must use his sword on the second, who would prob- 
ably have firearms. He blamed himself for not hav- 
ing reloaded. 

As the dilemma became sharper the youth felt 
his energy grow. His ardor became a madness. 
The decisive moment was at hand, for the squadron 
came on, howling like wolves of the steppes, whose 
cry he seemed to recall, thirsting for his blood, while 
the solitary rider was already on the road before 
him. This was not ten paces off, and he was going 
to shoot, when he heard the well-known voice of 
Father Lecomte shouting: “Don’t fire on me!” 

While superexciting the imagination, extreme 
peril often makes the brain clearer and quicker to 
act. In a flash Albert perceived all. The man whom 
he had mistaken in the darkness for the enemy try- 
ing to waylay him was no other than the farmer, 
manoeuvering to puzzle the hussars. Ten seconds 
subsequently the two Frenchmen were riding side by 
side. 

“Listen to me heedfully, sir,” said the peasant, 
without relaxing the pace. 

“I am doing so and I shall understand,” said the 
other, more bent on doing what he had been told 
than ever. 

“I am going to continue to beguile them along 
the causeway, but you must dash right over the 
morass at the place which I shall point out to you 
presently. The strangers will not dare to follow 
you on account of the pools and they will stick on 
after me.” 


all's fair in war «7 

“I do not favor your dealing alone with the 
horde," muttered the youth. 

^‘Do not bother about me; I undertake to baffle 
them on my own ground." 

“But I will never flounder out of the bogs." 

“Do you see the Charles’ Wain?" said the farmer, 
as he pointed to the well-known constellation also 
called the “Dipper," or the “Wagon and Horses," 
which indicates by the pointer the North star. 

“I do, though dimly." 

“Keep straight on in its direction until you meet a 
little wooden house and a clump of pines. Wait for 
me there. I will join you in about an hour." 

“But I really cannot abandon you thus!’’ 

“It must be so," said the farmer’s firm voice. 
“Together, we risk the destruction of both." 

During this rapid dialogue, the horses had cov- 
ered a hundred yards and more, and the horseman 
who had dashed off the road subsequently to the 
guide, could be seen galloping on the right. Albert 
pointed to him and was going to ask what his com- 
panion made of him, when the latter, instead of 
noticing, drove in both spurs, and cried out: “Here’s 
the place to part. Push ahead boldly and do not 
quit the line to the ‘Wain;’ the ground is firm to the 
hut amid the pines." 

The resolute tone decided the officer. He gath- 
ered up his horse and turning him to the right with 
one touch of the spur, he leaped bravely into the 
swamp. Water and mud splashed up, but the direc- 
tions were reliable; the soil offered sufficient resist- 


88 


ALL S FAIR IN WAR. 


ance and he might gallop on without uneasiness. 
He dashed on for a few seconds before the horses 
of the hussars carried them on like a whirlwind and 
they disappeared in the night on the highway. The 
farmer’s ruse had fully succeeded. Heated by the 
chase, the pursuers did not even suspect that one of 
the French had left the causeway. They had also 
paid no attention to the second rider diverging, who 
was rushing over the pools in the same direction 
as the dragoon, riding with great recklessness and 
uttering singular yells; these had not the Oriental 
twang of the Austrians or the guttural notes of the 
North Germans, and the hunted one was puzzled. 
It seemed as if the man was runaway with and was 
screaming for help. Indeed, while the cornet stuck 
to the line laid down, this quaint cavalier floundered 
about in the most whimsical zigzags. It was soon 
clear that he was not master of his horse and that it 
gave him too much to do for him to be dangerous. 
Nevertheless, he might do some harm in a collision, 
and Boissier was feeling the pistol priming before 
getting rid of this inconvenient neighbor, when a 
wail in French struck his ear: 

“Help — help me!” 

It was the unfortunate Panardel. In the meeting 
with the hussars, he had been lucky. Placed in the 
midst of the column, he had escaped the sword 
slashes, and all he received was a shock from a 
horse which had almost sent him out of his saddle. 
But having been carried through the line, his swing- 
ing jacket had been taken, in the dark, for that of 


all's fair in war. 


89 


their own men, and again he was spared; but the 
horse had over-aided him in his wish to get away as 
soon as possible, by taking the bit between its 
teeth. So long as it carried him along the cause- 
way, Panardel had not tried very hard to restrain it, 
but when it turned off upon the marsh, he had 
vainly endeavored to be the master. The mad- 
ened steed curvetted fearfully, and splashed wildly 
through the pools, thick or thin. The danger had 
only changed in nature. Instead of falling under 
the Huns' saber strokes, Agenor risked being 
smothered in the mud. 

‘‘Oh, this way then; follow me!” shouted Bois- 
sier, at the risk of one of the pursuers who knew 
French, taking the hint. 

But, while he compassionated the unfortunate 
rider, he had no time or means to help him. 

The bemired man heard the advice clearly 
enough, but his steed understood nothing of the 
charitable appeal, and forced him into a quagmire 
where both sank. 

The mishap was so sudden that the cornet did 
not perceive it for a while. But when he looked 
round and saw no man, he was going to stop; still 
he reflected that he had better reach the pine wood, 
tie his horse there, and return to assist his unfortu- 
nate brother officer. This appeared to reconcile 
duty with good fellowship, and so he continued to 
ride to the north. 

Ere long a screen of large trees rose before him, 
and he recognized the place designated by Lecomte. 


Od 


all's fair in war. 


He drew rein, and was about to dismount when he 
spied a light beneath the trees. At the same time 
his ear was struck by a kind of faint groan. Both 
sight and sound seemed suspicious to the officer, 
who was becoming wary beyond .his years. 

Lecomte had spoken of a cabin, but not of its 
being inhabited. 

Little more would have induced him to continue 
his journey. But he reflected that removing from 
the wood where the tryst was fixed was missing the 
farmer and blocking his chances to fulfill his charge. 
To observe the enemy without being captured and 
join his own army through their forces, required 
local knowledge which was lacking to the youth but 
was overflowing in the native. 

“Besides I promised, and I must keep my word,” 
mused the officer. “Again, there is our poor Panar- 
del, in need of assistance, and I want to aid him to 
get out of the slough where he is mired down.” 

Fortified by this reasoning, he did not falter, but 
alighted, hitched his horse to a pine tree, and cau- 
tiously directed his steps toward the light. 

The sound ceased at intervals, but it was resumed 
in the same melancholy tone. There was no mistak- 
ing the fact that it expressed human suffering. 

Albert quickened his pace, and, after a few steps 
under the trees, perceived the cabin he had heard 
of. Four enormous pines had been used as they 
stood for the corner-posts of a shanty, the roof and 
walls having been coarsely made of large boughs. 
The light which had struck the soldier's attention 


all’s fair in war. 


91 


shone through the many interstices, and it was very 
easy to see what happened inside by going up 
closely. 

The moaning had changed into a kind of rattle. 
The youth shuddered to think that a fellow-being 
was dying helpless in this loneliness, and he applied 
his eye to a chink. A lugubrious scene was lighted 
by the trembling rays of a pine-knot torch stuck in 
the ground. 

On a heap of dry leaves, a half-clad man was 
writhing in horrible convulsions. He was alone, 
and the hut contained no furniture excepting a stool 
and a water jug. 

The dragoon had no need to see more. He ran 
round the shanty, pushed open a door of pine slabs, 
and walked in. The wretch opened his eyes; his 
hands shook spasmodically; he tried to rise but fell 
back exhausted, and swooned. A gaping wound 
bored his bared chest, and the blood streaked his 
white skin. He did not appear to be a Prussian, 
although a blue cape with hood and a brass-hilted 
saber, flung into a corner, seemed to hint at that 
nationality as his. 

Urged by pity, Albert fell on his knees beside 
him, shook him gently, and called him, using some 
words of German and of Russian, in his excitement, 
which he had acquired in his early vicissitudes. It 
was mercy’s labor lost; the wounded man gave no 
token of life. Still he was not dead, as his hurried 
panting was audible. The dragoon had a canteen 
half full of brandy, which he put to the pallid lips. 


92 


all’s fair in war. 


Revived by the cordial, the wounded one opened his 
eyes and fixedly stared at the stranger who came to 
his succor. The latter’s uniform seemed to surprise 
him, but he showed no fear. 

^‘Drink away, my brave fellow,” said the officer, 
forgetting that the other might not understand. 

But to his astonishment, the supposed Prussian, 
after drinking a few drops of the cognac, said in 
French: ‘‘Thank you, monsieur. God repay you.” 
Then, after a pause to collect roving thoughts, he 
added earnestly: “But you spoke Russian?” 

“I was in Russia once — ” 

“That is better — ” but here he nearly fainted; 
then, recovering with an exertion, he went on falter- 
ingly: “I am part Russ; I was a student at Heidel- 
berg; my teacher of French was a compatriot of 
yours.” 

This was in French; the effort fatigued him, and 
during his unconsciousness, Albert examined him. 

He was not more than three-and-twenty, with 
refined lineaments; his yellow hair curled naturally 
and his taper fingers indicated an aristocratic origin, 
so that the dragoon expected to find him a fellow- 
officer,- notwithstanding his coat being of the coarse 
Silesian cloth in which Prussia clothed her soldiers. 

The bullet which laid him low had entered the 
chest below the right shoulder and come out at the 
armpit; the blood had flowed in such abundance 
that the dry leaf bed was inundated. Boissier under- 
stood that the patient must die from this loss of 
blood, but still he thought of his traveling surgical 


1 

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93 


case. Out of it he drew lint, bandaging stuff and 
compresses, and set to dressing the wound with 
some skill. Having staunched the blood after a 
fashion, he lifted up the soldier and set him against 
the wall. He appeared to breathe less laboriously, 
thus. A doubled cloth, dipped in cold water and laid on 
his forehead, completed the revival. He re-opened 
his eyes and offered his hand with a gratitude that 
touched the youth deeply. 

‘‘Do you feel any better?” inquired the dragoon. 

“Easier,” faltered the other; “but your attentions 
are useless; I am death-stricken, and have not an 
hour to live.” 

He was using French with an accent, but not that 
of the Germans. 

“How does it come about that your comrades 
abandoned you in this way?” inquired the cornet. 

“ Twas they who slew me,” muttered the 
wounded man. ’ 

Boissier was perplexed, fearing that he had been 
alleviating the possibly deserved pangs of a spy or 
traitor; coward he did not think him. The sufferer 
must have read these thoughts on his face, for he 
gathered what life was left him to raise his voice. 

“Listen to me; you who have trod my native soil, 
I care not in what guise — and when you hear my 
story, you will perhaps not refuse to do me a serv- 
ice. 

T promise to do for you all I can,” replied Bois- 
sieur, with tears in his eyes. 

“I am a Russian on my mother’s side, but was 


94 


ALL^S FAIR IN WAR. 


born in Franconia, where my parents were sojourn- 
ing, and I was studying at Heidelberg Uiyversity 
when Germany rose against the French invasion at 
the commencement of 1813. I am named Hermann 
von Finkinstein. I loved a girl, whom I was on the 
eve of wedding, when I was claimed under the law 
as a Prussian born, and pressed into the Landwehr, 
She vowed to wait for my return, but when I did so, 
wounded in the battle of Liepzig, Wilhelmina had 
married.’' 

^‘Your betrothed had married another!” exclaimed 
the cornet, interested as any youth is in love stories. 

“She had betrayed her faith in favor of a Prussian 
officer because he was wealthy and had a high 
grade, and I learnt that she was going with him in 
the army hither.” 

“Women with the army?” protested the other. 

“But he was a general,” said the soldier, bitterly. 
“It is believed that we shall march straight on into 
Paris, and he, who wedded my Wilhelmina, expects 
to give her the sight of a military promenade.” 

“This is strange,” muttered Albert, recalling the 
supper in the tent, where he had seen Therese 
insulted. 

“I still loved her,” continued the wounded one, 
after another sip from the flask, but in an enfeebled 
voice. “I quitted the Landwehr and joined the 
corps commanded by her husband, with the hope to 
be killed while she was looking on.” 

“Did she know you again?” 

“Yes, she recognized me,” muttered the dying 


all's fair in war. 95 

man, *‘for she issued the order that I should be mur- 
dered." 

The hearer shivered with horror. 

“Only an hour ago," resumed the soldier, “a man 
who had the right to command me, selected me to go 
with him on scouting duty around our camp. He is 
her familiar, a scoundrel who dishonors the officer’s 
epaulets, and his name, Otto Minden, I want you to 
remember. Swear that you will retain it in mind!" 

Albert nodded, not having the strength to answer 
verbally. 

“As we entered this pinewood he coolly drew a 
pistol from his belt and shot me at point blank, say- 
ing: 'By order of the general.’ " 

“Infamous!" cried out the cornet, pale with emo- 
tion. 

“I dragged myself in here to die, but with the 
hope that heaven would send me an avenger, and 
you will avenge me!" 

“I swear it!" 

“You will live — you will see the end of this war, 
and may meet the coward who slew me. Cast his 
crime into his teeth, and kill him like a dog!" This 
outburst had exhausted the sufferer. “Here," he 
gasped as he pointed to his splashed coat, “here is a 
letter and a miniture; some day hand them to Wil- 
helmina, and tell her that in dying I forgave her." 

He frothed red at the lips; his eyes became dull, 
and a livid hue gradually overspread his face. His 
mouth opened once more to sigh — it was the last. 
Such deaths the cornet had not lately seen; the 


96 


all's fair in war. 


others had been upon the field of action, and the 
fleeting intoxication of the burning gunpowder man- 
tles the agonizing scenes; the soldiers slain before 
Eclaron had fallen lifeless, in Russia, almost all the 
fallen were half dead with cold and starvation before 
the bullet or the lance pierced them. But this was 
the struggle of the soul not to be torn from its 
earthly home. He watched on the countenance the 
gradual screening with that veil which is like a vapor 
tarnishing a mirror. 

After Hermann had exhaled the sigh which car- 
ried away life with it, the witness remained con- 
founded. Still he gazed on the corpse’s contracted 
features which reflected the two feelings most vivid 
in man — love and hatred. The lips even now might 
open again to curse Otto Minden and call for Wil- 
helmina. But the poor deceived lover was certainly 
dead. The hand which the officer lifted fell back 
cold and rigid. 

In the mournful silence, Alfred shivered in every 
limb, and he was rising to flee when he remembered 
the last entreaty. The ensanguined coat was at his 
feet, and the bullet that perforated it had allowed a 
scrap of torn paper to peep forth. Boissier had 
taken the oath, and despite his repugnance, he 
courageously explored the saddening garment, and 
took forth the letter and the likeness. The latter 
was intact, and the admirable face beamed forth, the 
hair flaxen and the eyes sky-blue, but a curve to the 
nose and a mouth too firm gave it a hard and haughty 
expression. The letter, written on time-yellowed 


all’s fair in war. 


97 


paper, was stained with tears. Albert opened it with 
emotion, and found that the pistol shot had torn and 
singed it : a piece had been carried into the wound: 
it was barely legible so that the Frenchman could 
make little of it save the signature : “Wilhelmina 
Lisdorf,” in a strong, almost masculine hand ; it 
must have been traced without feeling. 

Albert placed these memorials of a fatal passion 
in the pocketbook he carried, while his eyes moist- 
ened against his will. He was thinking that he, too, 
might be pierced by a hostile bullet and die in a cor- 
ner of the woods with no one to mourn for him, 
since Therese hardly could have distinguished him. 

But he had been too early environed by deadly 
dangers to give way to weakness for any long time, 
and the feeling of self-preservation came back to 
him simultaneously with the desire of striking at the 
scoundrel who murdered a man at the behest of a 
worthless woman. In his wrath he commingled the 
ravishers of the farmer’s daughter with the slayers 
of Hermann von Finkinstein, and he was easily led 
to assign to the unknown assassin the form and lines 
of the Red Hussar. 

“ I mean to be the death of him,” he growled as 
he clutched his saber-hilt. 

More easy to say this than to do it, for the situ- 
ation was critical. Lost in the solitude, the cornet 
could only get out by the aid of Lecomte, whose re- 
turn seemed more and more problematical. The 
countryman might be taken or killed by the enemy, 
in which case the young man stood poor chances of 


98 


ALL S FAIR IN WAR. 


safety. To ride in the night over the marshes with- 
out a route or a guide was to risk drowning in a 
pool. 

To wait for daylight to pursue his mission was 
to insure its failure. 

Deeply perplexed, he looked at his watch and 
saw it was near midnight. The hour appointed with 
Therese’s father had long gone by. It was therefore 
likely that misfortune had attended him and that he 
would not come. Better attempt the night journey 
however perilous, than remain in this fatal hut. At 
an age under twenty, a man does not willingly keep 
the death-watch, and the youth felt distaste to being 
near the corpse whose twisted features and glazed 
eyes frightened him. 

The silence on the miarsh also was of evil augury 
as regarded Panardel: he must have been swallowed 
up by the mud, although it was more easy for a man to 
wade through it than a horse. He hoped, by leading 
his steed, to avoid the quicksands, the springs, and 
the quaking bogs, and not mount till he reached firm 
earth. Difficult and toilsome but possible, while 
taking much time. He would not dare use the road 
patrolled by the hussars, and he would have to wan- 
der at random. 

Still the nights are long in the first month of the 
year, and he would have half-a-dozen hours before 
him of protective shade. 

To reach the River Aube, he would have to go 
westerly. The Great Bear, serving as guide, sparkled 
in the sky, and by keeping it on the right, he was 


all's fair in war. 


99 


sure to strike some part of the river which he hoped 
to recognize. 

He gave poor Hermann a farewell look in his 
eternal sleep; the resinous torch was dying out and 
flickered on the dead face. Only now did the officer 
wonder why the light had been set there, and he 
concluded that the Prussian might have chosen it 
for an outpost. It might be occupied at any time. 

To depart was urgent; he went out and turned 
to the spot where he had tied up his charger. He 
was somewhat astonished that he had not heard it 
neigh since he left it, and still more when he saw a 
void where it had stood. Thinking he was mistaken, 
he went from tree to tree, but it was useless. He 
saw no living thing on the edge of the wood, and 
had to acknowledge, under the weight of evidence, 
that the bright bay had disappeared. 

The adventure was becoming fantastic, and he 
worried his wits to guess how the animal could have 
taken its leave. It had been fastened up too strongly 
to have wrenched away the bridle, and it could not 
have untied the knot! He was forced to believe that 
a man had been bold and cunning enough to steal 
it away. 

With what view the cornet could not divine, but 
the theft foreshadowed no good, and it complicated 
the quandary. 

At any cost he must get away tom this enchanted 
forest. 

‘‘Never mind,” he mused, “I was determined to 
wade through the swamp, and now or never must I 


100 


all’s fair in war. 


try it. I shall get on the faster as I shall have no 
horse to drag after. And we shall see what follows.” 

With this devil-may-care saying, which suited his 
youth, he set out. The night was clear enough for 
him to see his way. He consulted the Pole star, and 
walked toward the west as rapidly as the ground 
permitted; at every instant he had to go around 
pools, and leap ditches at the risk of breaking his 
legs. Riding boots were, however, suitable for wad- 
ing. Often the earth gave way, and he had to probe 
for more solid footing with his sheathed sword, 
but he was light and nimble, and pulled himself 
through every pit. At the end of twenty minutes, 
spent in gymnastic feats which were downright prodi- 
gies, he stopped to take breath and look back for 
the first time. 

The pine wood was a good way to the rear and 
loomed up black on the horizon. 

His excellent sight also discerned another black 
mass nearer and less inoffensive. About two hun- 
dred paces off, on the road, or rather no-road which 
he had straggled over, was sharply outlined the 
shape of a mounted man. It was enough to stupify 
the beholder. Whence came this strange cavalier 
who walked without sound and now stopped like a 
statue? It could be believed that he had emerged 
from a pond, and the officer might be pardoned if he 
thought it a water-sprite haunting the morass. But 
the great events through which he went had blotted 
out the tales of his mother, and he feared creatures 
of his kind who could deliver sword strokes as 


all's fair in war 


lOI 


little as gnomes and elfs. He suspected that he was 
confronted by a being of flesh and blood, and not a 
friendly one. 

Furthermore, he vulgarized him into a horse- 
thief, mounted on the charger he had lost. But still 
he did not understand what he was about. An 
enemy would have run at him without hesitation; a 
horse-stealer would have ridden away. This mys- 
terious rider was content to follow him slowly. To 
verify this supposition, AlJ^ert strode on some twenty 
paces and then stopped. The stranger kept his dis- 
tance and seemed to wait for him to go on once 
more. The case became embarrassing. 

Was he to proceed without troubling himself 
about this singular pursuit, or should he retrace his 
steps and summon the prying horseman to unfold 
himself? The cornet decided on this latter step; 
but he had hardly gone a few strides toward the 
man before his persecutor wheeled and made off like 
a pirate ship running from a man-of-war. This be- 
came rather comic, and encouraging in a manner. 
The rider beat a retreat for good reasons, and the 
Frenchman, sure that he did not like close quarters, 
resolved to distress himself no more about him, 
though he was sore about the stolen steed. So he 
trudged sturdily toward the west, through puddle 
and mire, but not without frequently glancing be- 
hind. The stranger followed him with the persist- 
ency of a silent shadow. 

^‘We shall see who will get tired of this joke 
first,’' muttered the youth between his grating teeth. 


102 


all’s fair in war. 


After an hour of this march of the inseparable 
two, Albert noticed that the ground changed in 
nature. The pools ceased to flash the stars and the 
soil met the tread firmly. A few scanty trees rose 
on the right and left. 

The wet tract finished here, and the turf gave 
place to furrows of the fall plowing. It was time to 
get a start and shake off the stubborn horseman. 

The cornet took his sword under his arm as, 
dragging, it would have interfered with his walking, 
and ran over the field. He had not covered a hun- 
dred paces before he heard the horse galloping. 
The stranger had also struck the solid ground, and 
decided to run the chances of a meeting from being 
encouraged by the safer footing. 

Boissier was glad enough to put an end to the 
suspense, although he was badly placed for the fight. 
A footman has much to do to defend himself with 
the bayonet against a mounted one; while the dis- 
mounted dragoon had only his sword, for his fire- 
arms had remained in the holsters. While running 
he unsheathed it, but he also tried to think of some 
means of more effectually checking the rider who 
was coming up at full speed. Chance wonderfully 
stood him as a friend. The field he was crossing 
was separated from a neighboring one by a deep 
ditch. A man on foot could see it sooner than a 
rider going at speed. 

Albert formed his plan and put it into execution 
with much skill and accuracy. At the moment when 
the mysterious cavalier reached him, he leaped to 


all's fair in war. 


103 


one side and let the horseman follow the impulsion 
of his furious gallop, just as the Spanish bull-fighters 
dodge the bull in wild career. From every point of 
view what he did was the very thing. In the first 
place a bullet whirled by his ear without touching 
him, and almost at the same moment he had the sat- 
isfaction to see the man and the horse fall into the 
ditch. In less than a second, the cornet charged 
them with his swinging saber. The man uttered 
the most lamentable shrieks, which did not soften 
the dragoon, but the horse kicked out so desperately 
that he could not well get near it. Still he moved 
so as to find a chance in which to deliver a straight 
thrust which would have nailed the rider to the sad- 
dle, without the risk of being marked in the face 
with a horseshoe, when a supplicatory voice sued 
for quarter in French. 

The influence of the maternal tongue never dies;, 
and hardened desperadoes have spared the fallen in 
the heat of battle because they appealed to them in 
their mother-speech. 

Albert was not yet proof against so natural a 
scruple. So he withheld his thrust, and fell on 
guard, in case the invocation was only a trick. But 
the stranger did not appear inclined to open hostili- 
ties. 

One leg was caught under the horse, floundering ^ 
against the bank, and he made efforts to extricate 
himself, most laughable because they were clumsy 
and unintelligent, like a frightened boy, waving his 
arms in the water when he ought to use them to 


104 


ALL S FAIR IN WAR. 


swim. He finally succeeded in getting free from his 
steed, and scrambled upon the bank three paces 
from where his horse was trying to climb up. This 
time, Albert deemed it prudent not to let him rise. 

He grasped him tightly by the collar with his left 
hand, dragged him up but turned him round with a 
kick, and as he faced him, pointed the sword at his 
breast, saying: 

“Stir, and you are a dead man!’’ 

At the same time, he scanned as well as the ob- 
scurity allowed this dubious antagonist’s face, but 
it was as black as a negro’s. He was moving from 
one surprise to another, and the mysterious cavalier 
had to call him by name to make him understand 
at last with whom he was dealing. 

“Albert Boissier, is this you? Oh, had I only 
known!’’ croaked a hoarse, cracked high voice, 
which probably had not its like in the whole French 
army. 

“Panardel?” ejaculated the other, bursting with 
laughter. “Where the deuce do you come from, you 
unlucky dog.” 

“Out of the slough,” gurgled the bog-soaked 
Agenor. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE REPORT. 

This frank reply only doubled the laughter as the 
dragoon now perceived the cause of his brother offi- 
cer's change of complexion. From his immersion 
in a black pool, the poor fellow had brought a mask 
of mud. He laughed so heartily that he was obliged 
to sit down on the bank tg have it out. 

“ Do you see anything funny in it?" queried Pan- 
ardel, sourly. 

Very much, and you ought to allow that I am 
justified. But — the Lord forgive you! that is my 
horse you brought here to drown." He had recog- 
nized the bay, its brightness dulled by the bath of 
muddy water. 

‘‘ I did not know whose it was," mumbled Agenor. 

“ Come, come, my dear fellow," went on Albert, 
becoming suddenly serious, “make this more clear to 
me; tell me why you stole — I use the fit word — stole 
a horse sent me by the Emperor, and why you tried 
to kill me with my own pistols?" 

“ You may have seen that my own horse threw 
me into the swamp," began Panardel. 

“ Ah, it was you who was carried off the road? I 
had forgotten that," said Albert, contrite at having 
abandoned a comrade in distress. 

“I had hard work to pull myself out of it," 


THE REPORT. 


I06 

whined the French hussar, “ and the confounded 
horse stuck in it. I looked around for you, but I 
did not see any living creature but that horse, tied 
to a tree, and I — I wanted a horse so bad that I took 
it.” 

“Without troubling yourself about the owner's 
fate, on foot among the enemy.” 

“I thought the hussars had gobbled you long be- 
fore.” 

“But all this is no reason for your hunting me 
over the bog without telling who you were, and 
charging me on the level.” 

“I wish you had been in my place,” dolefully re- 
marked the other. “I did not want to take another 
dip, and the man I saw seemed to know the best 
way, so I followed you, though I thought you were 
an enemy.” 

“I am so much obliged!” 

“But any lantern serves, and I expected by fol- 
lowing you I should keep out of the sloughs.” 

“You are more witty than I gave you credit for 
being. But why the pistol shot?” 

“Because I was afraid oi you!” 

“I see. You believe in the saying that ‘It is bet- 
ter to kill the devil than have the devil kill you.'” 

Agenor trembled and blushed under his mask of 
mud. But the other, already oblivious of his griev- 
ances against the luckless fop, was reflecting how to 
accomplish his errand without leaving him to his 
fate. It was not easy to solve the problem with only 
one horse between the two. 


THE REPORT. 


107 


‘‘Hark!'’ exclaimed Agenor suddenly, extending 
his arm toward the Soulaines road. 

Listening, they heard the dull rumble of distant 
galloping. Indistinct at first, it swiftly approached. 
Beyond a doubt, a mounted body was coming up 
the road. 

“That's the hussars!" whispered Panardel. 

“Coming back for us,” observed Boissier, more 
tranquilly. 

“Do you expect us to wait for them?" gasped 
the other, rushing to the horse, standing peacefully 
by the ditch. 

He had a foot in the stirrup, when his comrade 
held him down, saying coldly: 

‘!You forget that this is my horse.” 

Poor Agenor did not feel strong enough to quar- 
rel over it, and he yielded, but not without dolefully 
moaning: 

“Are you going to let both of us be caught?” 

“Why, do you not see that the surest way to 
bring them upon us is to mount,” impatiently pro- 
tested the younger officer; “we are far from the 
highway, but they can see in the clear night.” 

“My gracious, what shall we do?” 

“Come down off the bank,” returned Albert, 
drawing the horse by the bridle down into the hol- 
low beside the ditch. “And now, lie down, you,” he 
added, setting him the example. 

Thus lowered beneath the line of sight the trio 
became invisible. The squad was coming up fast. 
The scabbards were heard clinking on the stirrups; 


io8 


THE REPORT. 


but the horse’s back hardly rose above the ground 
level, and Albert kept his hand on the muzzle to 
prevent it whinnying. But they went through a 
moment of anguish as the horsemen passed them on 
the causeway. The two saw their heads and forms 
outlined plainly against the sky. They had slack- 
ened gait and were going at a walk, so that it was 
natural to suppose that they had espied something 
and were going to come upon the plain. But the 
slow march continued without interruption. 

When the party had gone by, the cornet of 
dragoons felt lively satisfaction, but he would have 
given a good deal to know whether it comprised 
Father Lecomte in its midst as a prisoner. Through 
all the ups and downs of that night, he had not for 
a minute ceased to think of the heroic peasant who 
had offered up his liberty — perhaps his life, for him. 
Therese’s memory mingled no little with the inter- 
est felt toward the farmer, and he also pondered 
about him in connection with his task, so very dif- 
ficult without a guide. 

Panardel had obeyed his brother cornet without 
demur and now he congratulated himself on having 
done so. Though his senior, he had conceived a 
high opinion of him after the relief from the ditch, 
the kick apart — and he was inclined to accord him 
boundless confidence. He was not far wrong in re- 
lying on Boissier’s coolness and brains, for the lat- 
ter’s military training seemed to be inborn, or other- 
wise they could hardly have developed so widely 
since he came into the field. 


THE REPORT. 


109 


So long as he had dwelt in Captain Champo- 
reau’s leading strings, he had limited himself to ex- 
ecuting his orders, in which he certainly had done 
well; but peril and isolation had unfolded gifts 
which he had no idea were in him. Necessity makes 
many a warrior, and he defended his life like an old 
trooper. 

The hostile scouts had gone afar, but the situa- 
tion had not become much more encouraging. Night 
was stealing on so that they ought to move briskly, 
for there was much to do before dawn, if the young 
commander wanted to carry out the mission of the 
Emperor. He had made up his mind that he would 
not return to headquarters without news worth re- 
porting. 

The course of the Aube, the names of villages, 
the return by way of Brienne, all these stratagetic 
points had not been knocked out of his head, and 
he knew a little better than at the outset how to 
observe the enemy. 

Therefore he trusted to fulfill his errand properly, 
and pictured himself arriving alone at the staff- 
quarters and receiving a word of praise from the im- 
perial lips. He, a cornet! This hope would have 
driven him through corps upon corps of the allied 
hosts. 

But they had to be found, and that might not be 
easy. 

Panardel’s unexpected return sadly tangled the 
maze, instead of aiding to clear it up. 

The young dragoon was too generous to dream 


no 


THE REPORT. 


of shaking him off; but he had a luminous idea: he 
brought the horse up out of the hollow, attentively 
examined it to see what was its condition, and being 
assured about its length of body and strength of 
back, he leaped lightly into the saddle. 

'‘Are you going to leave me here ?” whined 
Agenor. 

“I have the right to do so, if only to teach you 
not to steal your superior officer's horse,” responded 
Albert, unable to deny himself the pleasure of 
frightening the young man in joke. 

“I swear that I believed you dead,” whimpered 
the dandy, whose senses were upset by his alarm. 

“Really? what if I prove to you that I am very 
much alive by spurring off and leaving you where 
you stand?” 

“Oh, Boissier! you would not do that; you would 
not abandon your brother-officer, your fellow-coun- 
tryman! and the Emperor sent me off with you on 
this scout, and you are obliged to bring back all you 
can of your company with you.” 

“Do you think that?” said Albert, gravely, hid- 
ing with difficulty his strong inclination to laugh. 

“Certai-nly,” returned the hussar, delighted at 
having hit upon a powerful argument; “the Em- 
peror will haul you over the coals for dropping me.” 

“I do not know it is so,” replied the dragoon, not 
caring to carry the joke any farther. “But, my dear 
comrade, I have no intention of losing your valuable 
company, for I reckon on taking you with me.” 

“But how?” inquired Agenor. “I cannot stand, 


THE REPORT. 


Ill 


and I could never keep pace with the horse, though 
I held on by his tail.'' 

“How? Oh, you shall ride on the crupper," re- 
sponded Albert. 

The offer much surprised the dashing hussar, who 
never expected so much generosity, and he began to 
pour out thanks. But while one's first impulse is 
always the best, Agenor had scarcely justified the 
proverb before he cooled and began to raise objec- 
tions. In fact, the rear man in riding double would 
catch the most shots if there were a chase. He 
urged that he could not ride without stirrups, that 
his back was almost broken, and that he would cer- 
tainly fall. He pleaded so energetically that the 
other saw at what he was aiming. 

“My dear and valiant fellow-officer," said he, 
with a tone which would have rejoiced the spirit of his 
father, “you want to change places and bring me in 
with yourself riding first. I grant your preference, 
but I want you to observe that the horse is mine, 
and that it is no fault of mine if you drowned yours in 
a mud puddle, and I do not know any article of war 
by which the inferior in rank rides in front of his 
superior. Just decide what you will do straight-way, 
as I am not going to wait a full minute." 

This sharp, dry address made such an impression 
on the wholesale grocer's son that he hastened to 
climb upon the animal's back. He did not succeed 
without his comrade's help, or without grotesque 
contortions, and he was finally installed without any 
pretense of elegance. At the very instant Albert 


II2 


THE REPORT. 


drove in the spurs, and the vigorous bay, in spite 
of the increased burden, went off into a long trot, 
which might carry them along some twelve miles an 
hour. 

The horsemen had not a very martial aspect, and 
the merest boy with a good musket might have 
brought the night's adventures to a humiliating close, 
but Albert relied on the night, darkness and the 
good fortune which had attended him so far. 

Little inclined for conversation he let Panardel 
moan and grumble at his ease, without once ad- 
dressing him a word. 

On leaving the fields he found woodland enough 
to give him cover while keeping his line, and steadily 
bore to the west. The country grew more and more 
deserted. Few were the farms, and he did nor even 
come across such shanties as that in which the un- 
fortunate Hermann had breathed his last. Not a 
man appeared of whom he could ask information, 
and not a sound announced that he was near a mili- 
tary post. Thus for three hours they rode, when the 
youthful commander began to fear that he had gone 
astray. The ground suddenly lowered steeply, and 
almost instantly, as they burst through a screen of 
trees; Albert uttered a cry of surprise. 

Under his feet a deep valley opened, and the in- 
numerable watchfires of the allied armies scintil- 
lated like stars on a winter's night. This time it was 
no detachment bivouacking or even a division; for 
the fires extended far down the valley, and especially 
on the right. In places they were reflected by river 


THE REPORT. 


II3 


water, and they lighted up houses and a church 
steeple. 

'Albert had marched so happily that he had come 
out upon the Aube. 

He had studied the maps, and by combining with 
memory of them what he had gathered from Le- 
comte, he concluded that chance had led him 
straight upon the village of Larothiere, the princi- 
pal point he had to investigate. 

He thrilled with gladness, and almost with pride 
on perceiving that his coolness and particularly his 
perseverance had overcome all obstacles. 

The Youngest Soldier of the Grande Armee, an 
officer by imperial favor, had done what old soldiers 
might have failed in — he alone had discovered the 
spot where the opposing army camped. To do the 
boy justice, he acknowledged that chance played a 
great part in his success, and that the captain and 
the escort had contributed mainly to the result by 
keeping off the cavalry, though they were killed or 
taken prisoner. He much regretted parting from 
Champoreau, his brave professor of the art of war, 
and for the pleasure of seeing him again he would 
willingly have shared the glory. He had also great 
need of his advice, as the hardest part of the mis- 
sion was at hand. 

He dismounted to study the scene and to medi- 
tate. Panardel did not wait to be told to do the 
same, for he wanted to stretch his legs, which he did 
with visible satisfaction. 

‘'Eighteen miles without stirrups,*' he groaned, 


THE REPORT. 


II4 

as he chafed his tired limbs to restore the circulation. 

“Would you rather have come afoot?’' asked Al- 
bert, unable to resist the temptation to jest at^his 
friend. 

“Dear me, no!” quickly replied he, trembling at 
the idea of being left to his own devices; “but I 
haven’t had a scrap to eat since yesterday, and I am 
just collapsing with hunger.” 

“I have some brandy at your service,” remarked 
Boissier, who suffered as much as the hussar, but 
was not going to show that before him. 

Panardel swallowed, not without a wry face, a 
large gulp of some eau-de-vie bought at Vitry, and 
certainly not brought from Cognac, whatever the 
label asserted. He became a trifle less doleful when 
he had been warmed by the home-made spirit. 

“My father has some that is worth more per pint 
than that by the hogshead,” he sneered, “but never 
mind, I do feel better.” 

“I am glad to hear that you have your courage 
again — even DutchP he said to himself, “for we are 
notatthe end of our work.” 

“Hang it all! I hope you are not going to drop 
down on all those bayonets to have them come run- 
ning at our heels as before?” said the hussar with 
uneasiness. 

“No. But I must go along the ridge to see how 
far their camp fires extend.” 

“Can’t you make a rough guess? Nobody will 
come here to verify. We shall get lost, I am sure.” 

“How can we? Brienne is just over there,” re- 


THE REPORT. 


II5 

plied the younger officer confidently, as he pointed to 
the right, “and our army will be there to-morrow.’ 

“But we shall fall into some ambush, or on the 
outposts.” 

“We must fall out, then,” responded the youth 
tranquilly, as he took the good horse by the bridle 
and led it toward the north. 

“More marching,” grumbled Panardel, as he 
locked step. 

The rolling and wooded land was formed by the 
hills of the riverside. Keeping on this right bank, 
they had a chance of reaching Brienne without be- 
ing perceived by the watchers in the valley. This 
was Boissier’s plan, and he went on with it without 
listening to his companion’s complaints. He deem- 
ed it useless to mount the horse, which would give 
it a rest, and he could see more by not going too 
hastily as he kept the plain in view where the fires 
shone. For two hours they walked without seeing 
the last of the watch-fires. It was evident that 
Blucher’s corps was camping here. 

Night was getting on, and though dawn had not 
glinted, the sky in the east was lightening with “the 
false dawn.” 

Boissier was calculating how far he was from 
Brienne when the shrill sound of the bugles waking 
the soldiers with the morning reveille began to rise. 
The drums joined in to make the bass undertone of 
the early concert. 

It was a momentous time for the watcher. # On 
the direction which these troops took depended per- 


ii6 


THE REPORT. 


haps the success of the defending army, and once he 
knew this, he ought to ride at full speed to warn the 
commander-in-chief at headquarters. 

After all he saw and learnt on the way, he thought 
that the Germans would march upon Brienne and 
consequently expected to see them file from the val- 
ley to the north. At the end of thirty minutes he 
believed the contrary was happening. The stir and 
the noise advanced from his right to his left, in other 
words, from north to south. 

He had stopped, to the great joy of Panardel, 
who was outpaced; and he ensconced himself in a 
clump of large beeches. From this observatory he 
commanded the scene and lost not a movement of 
the armies. 

Soon he was sure that they went up the river. 
He began to fear that he had relied too much on his 
topographical knowledge. But he had to act some 
way. 

Twilight was banishing the darkness and the evo- 
lutions had gone on so briskly that the valley was 
half cleared of troops. By looking about in all 
directions he spied, below them, in a high vale, the 
roofs of a hamlet and some men moving among 
cattle. 

“Come, to horse,” he said to Agenor; “I believe 
we are wrong, and I see some country folks yonder 
who may give us directions.’* 

The military fop had languidly stretched himself 
on the grass, and he rose grumbling at having to 
take again upon the crupper his inconvenient seat. 


THE REPORT. 


II7 

Boissier started off at the gallop toward the houses 
and in a few minutes rode among the rustics, who 
fled on seeing him. In vain did he shout: “I am 
French!” for they thought he was an enemy, and no- 
body stopped. However, three or four, bolder than 
the others, turned around and stood on guard with 
flails and pitchforks. The dragoon hastened to 
alight to encourage them, and advanced with peace- 
ful gestures, which Panardel ardently repeated. 
Within ten paces the farmers recognized the French 
uniforms and lowered their weapons. One came up 
to the officers and politely doffed his cotton cap as 
he asked what they wanted. 

“We are out scouting for the Emperor,” Albert 
hastened to reply. 

“Is he near here?” exclaimed the boor. 

“He slept this last night at Montier.” 

“Hurrah! It is good time that he came to rid us 
of these robbers.” 

“I will tell him where they are,” went on the cor- 
net, “but I require information about the country. 
What do you call this place?” 

“Lassicourt.” 

“Brienne is in front, is it not?” Albert asked, as 
the village’s name gave him no clue. 

“You have long passed it, and if you want to get 
there ahead of the Germans, you must turn back.” 

“But I could not have gone so far astray.” 

“I beg your pardon, officer, but if you stick to 
this road, you will find yourself at Arcis this even- 
ing.” 


8 


Ii8 


THE REPORT. 


The cornet could not understand this. He was 
compelled to own that he had gone wrong, and that 
his strategetic and geographical knowledge had only 
misled him. 

He felt ashamed when remembering his pride 
on reaching the Aube; but he recovered with the 
thought that he had the better reconnoitred the 
enemy from the error having led him too far north- 
ward. Further, he saw a means here of being the 
more useful to the French army. 

“Have the Germans been here any length of 
time?” he ask the peasant. 

“Yesterday evening, and they had crossed the 
night before. But, the first time, they went down 
the river and now they are going up it. I think they 
are out of their minds.” 

The young dragoon reflected, trying to see the 
meaning of the contradictory manoeuvres; but he 
was not strong enough in strategy to understand it. 

“The Emperor will know what they meant by 
their marching and counter-marching,” he thought, 
“and now it is pressing to let him know all at 
once.” 

He had a foot in the stirrup when he felt Pan- 
ardel pluck him by the skirt of his coat. 

“Can we not buy some bread of these louts?” he 
asked, with the hungry look of a shipwrecked mar- 
iner. 

“Lots at the farm, and a barrel of wine we hid 
from the pillagers,” said the peasant with eager- 
ness. 


THE REPORT. 


II9 

'‘I have no time to waste,’’ said Boissier, bestrid- 
ing the bay. “But I do not prevent you going there. 
Only be quick to decide.” 

“I shall remain,” mumbled Panardel, with his 
mouth watering, and not parading any heroism. 

“Very well, I shall arrive the sooner,” said Albert 
with a shade of scorn. “Which is the road to Mon- 
tier?” he demanded of the peasant. 

“That is it you see ♦yonder, officer, the one that 
winds around into the woods.” 

“Thanks!” shouted the youthful commander, as 
he spurred and went off at the gallop. 

Though spent from weariness and dying with 
hunger, he was radiant with joy. He spurred with 
feverish ardor, and while he stiffened in the sad- 
dle, he reflected that in a few hours he should ac- 
count to the Emperor how he had performed his 
errand. All the hardships were overcome. One 
could not ga wrong on the road to Montier, where 
there was no fear of meeting the foe. 

After the deeds and dangers of the night, this 
ride might pass for a trot for exercise, but it threat- 
ened to be long, and Albert delighted at having got 
rid of Panardel. The bay began to show signs of 
undoubted fatigue and would have hardly carried 
double. The cornet, who wanted to present himself 
to the staff as he had been sent out, resolved to 
spare the steed, and he went slowly as soon as he 
had gone through the wood pierced by the high- 
way. Soon the jogtrot rocked him to sleep, and, 
though he nearly fell, he held on by the saddle hooks. 


120 


THE REPORT. 


and as the horse was a trained trooper, it bore him 
as steadily nodding as awake. 

A violent shock fully aroused him. A pair of 
strong arms was shaking him in the saddle, while a 
couple of Imperial Guides were hurling at him un- 
pleasant taunts. Excited by this bodily attack, he 
awoke completely and uttered an outcry of surprise 
like a looker into the camera obscura when the sun 
abruptly illumines the scene. Around him, plumed 
hats and gilded helmets with embroidered coats, 
were sparkling and shining. 

Only a couple of yards farther, mounted on his 
white horse, the Emperor was staring at him. 

The unfortunate cornet would have certainly 
fallen off, if the two horsemen who had shaken and 
abused him had not sustained him. 

Albert blushed and then turned pale; he choked 
like a school-boy caught in the act, and he felt a 
chill all over. 

“Where are you from?” demanded Napoleon, in 
the metallic voice used by him when he wanted to 
be severe. 

This blunt question was the finishing stroke for 
the youth, who closed his eyes. 

“Will you speak, sir?” resumed the stern voice. 

The effort to find power to reply cost the young 
officer more pain than all he had gone through since 
the evening. 

“Sire,” he stammered, “I have been reconnoitering 
the German army.” 

“You are the officer selected to accompany the 


THE REPORT. 


I2I 


Seventh Dragoon captain who came out of Spain?*' 
asked the Emperor in a less irritated tone. 

“I am Albert Boissier, sire.” 

“Where is that officer, that he sends you before 
him?” 

“Sire, he was taken prisoner by Austrian hussars.” 

“And his escort?” 

“Taken or slain, sire, as well as our guide.” 

“How did you escape?’* 

“Your Majesty had a very good horse supplied 
me,” answered the youth, modestly. 

“Then, nothing has been seen and the scout is 
thrown away?” said the Emperor, frowning. 

“By your leave, sire, I have seen the whole army 
of the enemy,” exclaimed the young man, with sim- 
ple pride which made his hearer smile. 

“Indeed? Where is it, my sub-lieutenant?** 

“One division was camped last evening in the 
woods by Soulaines, part Prussian, part Austrian. 
The main body is now marching in the Aube valley — ** 

“In what direction?** 

“It comes from Arcis and makes for Brienne.” 

“You saw askew, young man; it comes from Bar- 
sur-Aube.** 

“Sire, I am sure that it is going up the stream,” 
stubbornly said the youth. 

“Do you know this country, then?** said the gen- 
eral, without being offended by the enthusiastic con- 
tradiction. 

“No, sire, but I questioned some countrymen, 
who assured me that Blucher had crossed the day 


122 


THE REPORT. 


before yesterday going toward Arcis, and come 
back yesterday.’* 

Questioning no more, Napoleon seemed plunged 
into thought. 

With profound emotion Albert regarded the 
meditating head, which then supported the fate of 
France, and his heart swelled with pride as he 
believed that the intelligence brought by Cornet 
Boissier were occupying Napoleon’s brain at that 
moment. 

'‘What is the enemy’s force in the Aube valley?” 
suddenly demanded the chief. 

This was not such a question as he had solved in 
college, but he got out of it rather adroitly. 

“Sire, I went along their campfire line at walking 
pace of my horse for two hours and a half, and the 
rear-guard was camped at Lassicourt village.” 

“Not bad for a beardless boy — but then he is the 
son of a true soldier,” muttered Napoleon. “Go, 
young man,” he said aloud, “and take your place in 
the squadrons on my special guard. This evening 
we fight before Brienne; bear yourself as coolly 
under fire as you seem to have done through water,” 
for his clothes were drenched with the swamp water, 
“and I will remember you.” 

“Vive r Empereur!” shouted the youth while the 
two guides drew aside to leave the road clear where ^ 
his horse had barred the way for Napoleon. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE FIRST BATTLE. 

The brilliant staff defiled before the stupefied 
dragoon while he was endeavoring to understand 
what had occurred. It seemed that all going around 
him was a dream, and he was only restored to reality 
by hearing his name pronounced in a familiar voice. 
It was one of his comrades, into whose ranks he en- 
tered, where he received compliments and shakes of 
the hand. 

^‘Do you know that your horse nearly ran down 
Napoleon?” said a joking lieutenant. 

“Goodness forbid — no!” said Albert, “I was 
asleep and — ” 

“It looks as if you had had a lively night, on the 
contrary, youngster,” said an old officer, “for Pierre 
Champoreau to be left on the road. It must have 
been hot w^ork somewhere, for our friend has a tough 
hide and a heavy hand. We went through the cam- 
paign in Portugal together, and I am sorry for him.” 

“Pooh, it is all one whether a man lays his bones 
in Spain or at home,” philosophically observed the 
surgeon. 

The beginner heard this rather summary funeral 
oration with a pang at the heart, but he was soon 
distracted by a strange sound .emanating apparently 
from the sky-line; like the rolling of thunder; it had 

123 


124 


THE FIRST BATTLE. 


loud bursts separate from the continuous bass. The 
war-horses pricked up their ears and the officers 
winked at one another, laughing. 

“Do you know that tune, brother?” asked the old 
lieutenant. 

Albert had recovered his clearness of mind. He 
was not going to mistake it for a thunderstorm, he 
who had been lulled to sleep by it as heard from 
the field artillery of Kutusoff and Suvaroff. 

“That’s the 'bull dogs’ growling,” went on the 
officer pulling out his grizzled moustache into points. 

“Ay, the cannon,” said the youth, as unconcern- 
edly as possible. 

“And you will see them bite before many hours.” 

“But there cannot be fighting in the Aube Val- 
ley,” said Albert, surprised to hear great guns in 
that direction where none but the enemy were in 
force. 

“Oh, that’s not the battle — only the Guards’ 
horse-batteries opening the ball before Brienne. 
Pretty soon the grand orchestra will begin, and I 
wager that we shall be in the front seats.” 

“At last, then, I shall see a battle,” thought 
Boissier, forgetting hunger and fatigue at the idea 
of participating in one of those games of military 
chess with live men, of which he heard so often and 
dreamt more; on the retreat, it was skirmishes with 
which he had been surfeited, often in the thick of 
blinding snow-whirls and cold fogs. 

Every instant the*rumble became more distinct, 
and an expert eye would have remarked in the 


THE FIRST BATTLE. 


I2S 

escort squadrons a significant bustle. Each rider 
prepared his horse as though the enemy were within 
charging reach, and the chatter ceased. The echo 
of the dense forests through which they passed 
repeated the detonations, and doubled the always 
solemn effect of the cannonade. Boissier listened 
with nervous tremor, wondering whether this was 
fear. It must be said that though his body quivered, 
his mind remained calm, for he was trying to com- 
prehend why he had not met the French cavalry 
on his return road. He ventured to ask this of his 
neighbor, the lieutenant, who explained that the 
mounted troops had gone on before the foot by the 
by-ways. 

That was all the information he could extract, 
and he was obliged to give up a scarcely instructive 
dialogue. 

‘‘Oh, if my good Captain Champoreau were here, 
how clearly he would explain what I ought to do. 
These brave men will let me be killed without know- 
ing why.” 

While making this sad reflection, he promised 
himself to behave so that the Emperor would re- 
member him and already he hardly doubted himself. 
One thing was a worry: his horse did not seem fit for 
a charge or to carry him through the day. He only 
wished he could change him for the one which he 
had brought from Paris and owed to his uncle’s 
munificence, but it was at the Montier bivouac, and 
it was no time to go hunting up horses. 

The body-guard trotted to keep up with the 


126 


THE FIRST BATTLE. 


Emperor, and Albert recognized the country ap- 
proaching the Aube from his having gone through 
it in the morning. The cannonade had ceased. The 
only shots were isolated ones, seeming to issue from 
a wood on the left in front. A white canopy of 
smoke floated over the trees. 

A good way off, on the right, Boissier believed he 
could recognize the hamlet where he had left Panardel. 

At present the escort was riding over a small 
plain where the artillery wheels had deeply rutted 
the soil. This was the only trace of the passage of 
the vanguard, and this field, surrounded by hoary 
oaks, wore the most peaceful aspect. One could 
never dream that on the other side of those ancient 
trees, seemingly planted as the entrance rows lead- 
ing up to some feudal castle, men were engaged in 
slaughter. 

“Here we are, young man,” said the lieutenant, 
pointing with his sword. “The ball will be danced 
yonder, and if you like that kind of partner, you 
may be waltzing with the Prussians in five minutes.” 

“That will suit me,” answered the other sharply, 
for he guessed that the veterans were watching him, 
and he was chafing lest he looked pale. 

They entered the thicket, where they were 
obliged to go at a walking pace. Singular crackling 
in the upper branches alternated with dull blows as 
though the trunks of the oaks were struck; a gang of 
wood-cutters seemed at work. 

“They are still firing too high,” commented a 
lieutentant quietly as he rode beside the cornet. 


THE FIRST BATTLE. 


127 


He better understood the cause of the lofty tree- 
chopping on seeing a huge splinter fall in front of 
his horse. The cannon balls were decapitating the 
forest kings, and this proof of the want of skill in 
the hostile gunners contributed to steadying the 
dragoon. He had no time to study much of the 
effects of the artillery fire on trees as the squadron 
came out of the woods and the whole battle-field 
appeared. 

On a height the Emperor was placed to examine 
the enemy. His staff collected behind him, and the 
escort deployed into single line to offer less of a 
mark to the main gunners. Albert, closing up the 
extreme right squadron, could comprise the view in 
a glance. 

Numerous cavalry covered the narrow, rolling 
plain at his feet. Their helmets, breastplates, and 
swords and spears flashed. A little farther, the 
castle of Brienne -towered over the town, the roofs 
standing out from on the background of trees. The 
Aube flowed on the left, where long files of the 
dark- clothed Prussians lengthened out. 

It was three o'clock, and a lustreless wintry sun 
lighted a landscape animated and yet mournful. 
The ground was damp, and dry leaves were wished 
about as in the early fall. 

The artillery duel had almost ceased, and a 
French battery, stationed on the right, had been 
hushed since the Emperor arrived. On the other 
side, only a few lone shots broke forth at long 
intervals to try the range. It looked as though the 


128 


THE FIRST BATTLE. 


armies recoiled like duelists before engaging 
closely. 

Swarms of staff-messengers flew from the imperial 
group in every direction. It was a marvel to see 
them speeding over the slippery hillside, bending 
down on their horses’ neck, and disappearing in the 
smoke blown across the level land. The cornet 
envied their duty as he experienced the torture of 
suspense, the worst to endure in front of danger. 

Around him the veterans passed standard jests or 
showed their military lore by naming the regiments 
by their uniforms. 

“Oh,’' exclaimed Albert, suddenly, while his eyes 
blazed with rage, “there are the Russian Cuirassiers!” 

“That’s so,” said the old lieutenant, almost drop- 
ping the short pipe he alw^ays smoked before an 
engagement, at this burst of emotion: “What have 
they done to you?” 

“And there are the Cossacks!” cried Albert in 
the same eager tone, as he spied a forest of lances 
and a rush of cavalry, helter-skelter in marked con- 
trast to the calm reigning over the horse troops 
before Brienne. 

“They killed his father out there,” the word 
passed, and those not acquainted with Albert’s 
story, watched his glowing face with sympathy. 

“Does notour cavalry see them? Why don’t they 
go at them ?” 

There was no time for his impatient questions 
to be answered by a word; more practically, they 
were already settled. 


THE FIRST BATTLE. 


129 


A thundering sound rolled from the hill foot, and 
a deep column of mounted troops galloped out 
upon the plain. 

‘‘That’s Lefebvre-Desnouettes leading the Horse- 
guards,” said a white-headed dragoon-guardsman, 
speaking straight at Albert: “Captain Boissier was 
one of his own favorites — just mark how he handles 
the heavy cavalry!” 

The fascinated youth saw the moving body roll 
over the level and go clean through the Russian line 
as if it were an immense projectile. Short and almost 
silent was the cleavage. The swords had not been 
drawn and the only sound was the smothered one 
of horses knocked over and armor clashing. Then 
the medley disentangled like a skein parted out into 
separate threads. The Russians fell back in dis- 
order, behind their infantry forming square, and a 
long sheet of white smoke covered its front to the 
foe. The musketry began, and the French cavalry, 
called in from following up the advantage, retired in 
regular order. 

This charge was the signal for a general attack. 
On both sides a dreadful cannonade poured out. 

Boissier could not see the French batteries hid- 
den round the wood, but the town before him was 
wrapped in fire and smoke like a ship-of-war firing 
both broadsides at once. The German guns there, 
placed in stages from the first houses to the citadel 
base, fired over the Russians’ heads. Above the 
large trees of the town park fluttered flocks of 
frightened ravens. 


130 


THE FIRST BATTLE. 


Absorbed by the sight, the cornet had already 
seen the earth around him . heave up and crumble 
down two or three times, as though gigantic moles 
were at work, and a sinister rumble accompanied 
the phenomena, of which he now sought the cause. 

As he was watching one of these intermittent 
furrows not twenty paces off, he heard a warning 
cry: ‘‘Look out for the ball on the bound!” and the 
lieutenant’s husky voice added: “Stoop! deuce take 
you — stoop!” 

Boissier mechanically obeyed, and bowed over 
his horse’s neck. In the same second a mighty 
breeze fanned his ears and a dull sound followed. 
The ball ricochetting over his head, had gone plump 
into the troop. Two men were struck, one slain 
outright, the other left with a broken leg. A disem- 
boweled charger struggled on the ground with des- 
perate kicks, and blood splashed the mud. 

“Ha!” tranquilly remarked the lieutenant, “you 
would have had that pill only for me. Luckily I 
know all about such boluses. Mind, youngster, you 
must look out when a ball comes skipping along in 
that style.” 

Albert was torn to the heart by the groans of the 
wounded and the screams of the horses, and he felt 
like running to help them. 

“Zounds, sir,” said an old captain’s irritated voice, 
“did you come here to inventory the losses? Close 
up the Hne, a thousand thunders befall you.” 

The cornet made an effort over himself and 
repeated the command in an unsteady voice. 


THE FIRST BATTLE. 


I3I 

But the soldiers had not waited for the order to 
re-form the line, and the squadron dressed up under 
fire into the battle array. No one troubled about 
the dead, and the men went on smoking and con- 
versing as though in a corner of the mess-room. The 
old troopers had seen their comrades fall with no 
less unconcern than one watches a couple of guests 
get up and go away from the dinner-table. 

The projectiles continued to rain upon them all. 
Albert had plenty of work to restrain his horse 
which leaped every time a shell plowed up the 
ground. The cannonade seemed to double in 
violence, and it became almost impossible to hear 
in the uproar. 

“Are we likely to stay long thus, without getting 
near the enemy?” shouted Albert, making a speak- 
ing-trumpet of his free hand. 

“Until# the mud regiments come up, comrade; 
they would have a grudge against us if we cut our 
capers without them.” 

The inquisitive youth put no more questions, but 
he thought that if the marching regiment were an 
hour later, they would only see the imperial escort 
utterly destroyed. 

On the left, in front of the line, Napoleon, who 
had alighted, was conversing with two marshals, 
and the cornet noticed that the missiles did not 
change their direction because of their rank. A 
shell burst within twenty paces of the three, but the 
Emperor did not turn his head. This sight har- 
dened the spectator, and after five minutes wrestling 


132 


THE FIRST BATTLE. - 


between the will which persisted and the body which 
shrank, he was in the state to become a hero. He 
watched the balls play ducks-and-drakes with curi- 
osity exempt from fear, and almost felt at ease under 
the iron shower. Already taught not to duck his 
head to bullets, the cornet now ceased to bow to 
cannonballs. He had even forgotten weariness and 
hunger, and would have thought it ridiculous to 
talk of a meal on the battle-field. 

The hour neared for the scene to change. 

Soon, cheers were heard along the whole French 
line. 

‘‘Hurrah for the Marie-Louises! here come the 
boys who sing.” 

This shout spread like a flame of a train of pow- 
der, while on the border of the wood a thousand 
young and joyous voices replied with the famous 
song of the drafted men of 1814: 

“ She sings when not laughing. 

And that’s like us all!” 

The foot-soldiers came up marching at ease, 
covered with mud, and bending under the weight of 
musket and knapsack, but ardent and determined 
as ever. They straightened up on leaving the 
underwood, and ran down upon the plain to rally 
there. Many passed Boissier, who was astonished 
to see undersized and weakly men so animated. 
Some limped, but none sought to hang back. 

They raced to see who should reach the foot of 
the slope the quickest and they pushed one another 


THE FIRST BATTLE. 


133 


to come in first. It was much like school-boys let 
out for a run. No doubt the enemy wanted to re- 
serve ammunition for the impending onset, for the 
great guns were hushed, and the silence grew sol- 
emn. 

Afar, on the level ground, the Russian infantry 
was seen massing up, with artillery on the flanks, 
and their cavalry in the rear; in another place the 
white-coated Austrians were packed like sheep, 
whom the howling of wolves had driven together. 

Albert likened the movements to those in the 
sham battles he had witnessed on the Parisian 
parade grounds, and it was altogether unlike the 
actions along the line of the great Retreat from 
Moscow. 

At this moment, the pale sun pierced the clouds 
and gilded with its slanting beams the tall trees of 
Brienne gardens. In the woods where the imperial 
squadron waited, the birds which had been scared 
by the cannon, were gathered, calling to one another 
from the tops. 

Such was the quiet that the observer might have 
forgotten it was war, but for the stiffening remains 
of those near him, whom the cannon ball had 
mangled. 

Then he tried to make out whither the infantry 
were speeding. 

“The sports begin,'' said the lieutenant. “The 
Emperor, as the master of ceremonies, is explaining 
to the marshal the figures of the dance." 

“It is Marshal Ney," cried out Albert, with a 


134 


THE FIRST BATTLE. 


gush of warm admiration for his father’s old com- 
rade in arms. 

The celebrated grenadier was red in the face and 
his gestures were animated, while Napoleon was calm 
and bloodless, and spoke without feeling. The con- 
trast was so great between the two captains that it 
was graven forever on the young witness’ mind. 

The colloquy was short. 

Ney strode to his horse and, like others, disap- 
peared on the hilly slope, taking with him a number 
of plumed chiefs, while the cold and grave leader 
directed his telescope upon Brienne. 

Boissier was still under the spell of the scene 
when a strange and confused sound rose from the 
plain. It resembled a chorus, with the drums to 
mark the time; they beat the charge. Two French 
columns coiling as they moved from the foot of the ris- 
ing ground. The bayonets flashed in the sunshine, and 
the white plumes of the generals at the head of the 
battalions stood out plainly on the mass of blue 
coats. 

It was all so invigorating and attractive that old 
soldiers clapped their hands and shouted: 

“Hurrah for the Young Guards.” 

Boissier wanted to cheer as well, but his voice 
stuck in his throat and as he quivered in the saddle, 
the old lieutenant said with a knowing grin: 

“Don’t be greedy; there will be plenty for every- 
body.” 

“All of a sudden, the citadel and the town were 
wrapped in a grey cloud, streaked with cannon 


THE FIRST BATTLE. 


135 


flashes for a front over a thousand yards wide. 
Towards this wall of fire ran with bended heads the 
infantry whom Marshal Ney led on. 

On the plain, the Russo-Austrian line flashed fire 
and all vanished in the smoke. 

The bewildered cornet was trying to reason upon 
what he had seen, when the squadron was stirred. 

Napoleon had remounted, and an aid dashed up. 

'‘Our turn, youngster,” remarked the lieutenant. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Escorting the Grand Cockolorum,” returned the 
irreverent officer, who had seen too many crowned 
heads in the dust of battle in his career. “Did you 
think we were to look on with folded arms all day 
long?” 

Things did not pass as they do in pictures. The 
squadrons trotted fast down the slope after the 
Emperor. Before they had time to breathe after 
reaching the plain, Albert found himself in the midst 
of a third infantry column marching at the quick 
step to the right. 

“We are following Marshal Victor’s first brigade,” 
said the well-informed lieutenant, reading Albert’s 
astonishment. “The tall, thin man next the Em- 
peror.” 

“But we are not going to Brienne,” objected the 
novice. 

“Look straight before us,” said the other, smiling 
with pity for the new hand. 

Rising in the stirrups, Albert saw at a distance on 
the left of the town a black mass, motionless. 


136 


THE FIRST BATTLE. 


‘That’s Blucher and his Prussians, whom we are 
going to separate from their friends.” 

“Prussians, eh?” muttered the youth, thinking of 
Hermann, and of Therese as waitress on the general 
who had wedded Wilhelmina. 

“I told you that there was plenty for all of us,” 
added the officer coldly. 

It was not alarm that his hearer felt, for his long 
station under fire had toughened him. It was burn- 
ing curiosity to know how a battle was won; and his 
heart throbbed with pride at his being placed so 
near a grand master in the art. 


CHAPTER IX. 


A STRANGE CHARIOT. 

Albert stared, but the scene was circumscribed 
by the smoke, in which the field of battle disap- 
peared on the right. Before him was nothing but a 
forest of bayonets, with the dark, still Prussian lines 
a little beyond. The foot-soldiers marched at the 
quickstep in charging, and the escort squadrons had 
to trot to keep up. The singing was over. Songs 
would have gone for'naught in the cannon roar, 
which sounded a constant bass on which the battal- 
lions’ firing was barely audible. 

Behind Brienne castle the sun was going down, 
and stray balls traced black lines on the red disc and 
the clear sky with a curious effect. 

An ominous hail dashed into the front of the 
column, unlike the cannon firing grapeshot or the 
sharper sound of the musketry. It was a ripping 
noise with isolated whistles — it was canister shot, 
slugs, bits of iron, odds and ends, which clicked 
on the bayonets and made them bend over like 
wheat ears when a whirlwind rushes. The Prussian 
line was covered with flame and the weak assailants 
advanced through a fiery hurricane. There was a 
momentary wavering. The first battalions that had 
caught this shower, serried the ranks to recover for- 

137 


138 


A STRANGE CHARIOT. 


mation, while the light horse galloped up to take 
position on the flanks. 

The wind wafted the smoke back on the Ger- 
mans, so that the French column was apparent, alone 
on the smoky plain, like a ship in the Polar fogs, 
going to sail into a bank. 

“ Now’s the time,” thought Albert, determined 
to watch his comrade and act as he did. 

All at once he saw him close up to the left with 
all his men, with little time given him to do the 
same. The change was executed so rapidly that the 
Emperor and his escorting troopers were out of the 
column before the youthful dragoon understood 
what was going on. 

A prolonged shout rose from the ranks: “With 
the steel — charge!” 

The foot soldiers rushed onv/ard with the bayo- 
nets leveled, like an avalanche. The torrent poured 
past the cornet, who was not ten paces from the 
imperial staff, reduced to a few generals as the heads 
of corps had gone with their gold bullion epaulets to 
take their commands in the plain. It w^as no season 
for carpet-knights, and, in this campaign, the mar- 
shals had to risk their lives like the youngest ensign. 

Napoleon watched the attack, and Albert be- 
lieved that he saw on his marble visage an expres- 
sion of joyous triumph. His eyes saw the victory. 
The conscripts cheered him as they ran into the 
action, and a classical memory struck the youth* 

“ Going unto death, they hail Caesar!” he mut- 
tered, as he drew his saber in a burst of enthusiasm. 


A STRANGE CHARIOT. 


139 


*'Be careful!” censured the lieutenant, “and don’t 
poke out my eye. Do you take me for a Cossack?” 

This sensible reproach drove away the classical 
reminiscences. It was no time to cut the air with a 
sword, as he promptly acknowledged. 

The melee was furious in front and on the right. 
The French had fallen upon the Germans, and 
hardly any firearms were used. The bayonet and 
the butt were wielded, and shouts of rage resounded 
over the isolated gunshots. At whiles, one or the 
other b’ne gave way, and they who were repulsed 
moved on anew, or in turn gave way. Then the in- 
terlocked mass wavered. Distinctly could be heard 
the officers on both sides urging on their men — 
“ Vorwarts: EiiavaiitT on — forward! 

For over ten minutes it was like the wave on the 
shore, ebbing and flowing. 

Albert had lost his self-control; he worried his 
horse and fidgeted in the saddle: he wanted to 
charge and slash all by himself. 

“Keep cool, young man; keep cool,” said the 
lieutenant in his ear. “Look at the old man!” he 
added. 

Statuesque on his petrified horse, Napoleon 
seemed a stranger to the mad combat raging almost 
at his side. He was peering through his spy-glass 
at Brienne and pointed out an object on the plain 
to a general whose white feathers and the red cor- 
don were all that Boissier could distinguish. 

“He’s talking with Berthier,” said the lieutenant, 
“we shall have novelty.” 


140 


A STRANGE CHARIOT. 


He was still speaking when a dull rolling sound 
rose higher than the confused tumult, and the com- 
batants quaked with fresh emotion. The rearmost 
battalions in a twinkling receded to the escort: some 
soldiers ran by, yelling: “The cavalry; it's the Rus- 
sians!" 

The impetus of the disorderly crowd was so 
strong that it threatened to carry away the escort. 

“Forward!" shouted the officers, galloping up to 
protect the Emperor. 

Albert passed close by him, and saw a sparkle 
in the eyes kept on the foe, but there was no leisure 
to notice mote. 

Like thunder-peals on four sides burst a tremend- 
ous and savage “Hurrah!" which he knew by heart; it 
came from the Russian horse falling upon the body- 
guard after having sent the infantry flying. Albert 
heard the command : “To resist cavalry— form square !" 
shouted hurriedly by a general who galloped among 
the foot soldiery, and he believed he saw Napoleon 
and his staff disappear behind a rampart of bayonets. 
But before he had time to turn his head to the front, 
he felt crushed up, pushed and lifted with the mass 
by a formidable shock. 

As soon as disengaged, he found himself alone 
with three horsemen, their long white cloaks blow- 
ing out from their shoulders, at the same time rush- 
ing at him. He bravely thrust at the first who came 
near enough, and though this man evaded it at the 
cost of a stab to his horse's head which caused it to 
carry him away, with a snort of pain, the second ar- 


A STRANGE CHARIOT. 


I4I 

rived so close that his cut fell short; it was useless 
any way, for the edge glanced on a breastplate and 
the weapon was almost dashed out of his hand. 
The third, a hugh guardsman, dealt him a swashing 
blow with his sword upon the helm which it split 
without penetrating to the skull. All three passed 
on. 

Albert was stunned, but though nearly unhorsed, 
he clung to the saddle-bow and holsters and suc- 
ceeded in scrambling back into his seat. When he 
saw clearly, the charge had gone by, and all he saw 
on the level were half-a-dozen Cossacks who were 
speeding toward him on little ponies. Cold rage 
followed his temporary stupor at the sight of his 
hereditary foes. 

Standing up in their stirrups, couching their long 
spears and yelling like the savages they were, they 
circled round him; but they did not risk the encount- 
er singly. 

Day was dying, and the fight going on to the 
left was but faintly discernible through breaks in 
the smoke. 

It was imperative to finish with the Cossacks be- 
fore their heavy cavalry came back. Albert had no 
chance but to master the lancers one by one, by his 
superior swiftness. He was, by his military classifi- 
cation, a heavy dragoon, but luckily he was slight 
and alert. He waited for an opening and darted di- 
rectly at one who was nearest. The Cossack tried 
to race away, but the cornet overtook him, in spite 
of his feints, which presented no novelty to him. 


142 


A STRANGE CHARIOT. 


With two strokes he cut the head off his lance and 
almost beheaded him. A second son of th^ Don 
dashed up too late to the rescue, but as the dragoon 
was about to pin him to the saddle by a vigorous 
thrust, he felt his horse give way under him. The 
overtasked bay, pierced by a spear, reeled and rolled 
over in an instant. Even in falling, as the swerve 
brought the spearman, entangled by the fall, within 
his sweep, he cut down this victim of his audacity, 
but he was overthrown, all the same. His left leg 
was caught under the animal, and he was stretched 
on the sands. At the instant, over his head, passed 
a couple of bullets. Another of the cavaliers had 
fired with a pistol in each hand as he rode by. 

This reminded him of his weapons, and spite of 
the pain from the anchored limb he took out his 
pistols from the holsters and returned the fire. This 
had the good effect of inducing the enemy to keep 
their distance. But they seemed satisfied with 
carrying off their riderless horses, leaving the 
wounded with barbarian indifference, in order to 
continue their charge. 

They must have thought him dying, for blood 
poured over his face from the cut head and he felt 
his shoulder sharply ache. But the instinct of self- 
preservation awoke in him, and he understood that’ 
without the Cossacks being taken into consideration, 
he was lost if he remained there. The cavalry would 
return and ride him down. 

^ He called to his horse, and as it moved he made 
an effort and wrenched his leg free. As soon as he 


A STRANGE CHARIOT. 


143 


was on his feet again he looked around. The sun 
had disappeared and night was falling. The cannon- 
ade ceased on the right, but well-sustained musketry 
was heard in the streets of Brienne. 

The plain was clear in that direction. It was 
probable that Marshal Ney’s troops had stormed the 
approaches to the town and were making their way 
by cutting through the houses, wall by wall. 

But on the left, whither the Russian charge had 
driven the French column, rose a dreadful commo- 
tion. In the twilight the confused mass of the fight- 
ing men appeared like a black volcano, whence 
gushed fire and fumes. 

Boissier wondered what had become of his com- 
rades of the body-guard in the midst of this chance 
medley; nothing furnished a clue. Out of the press 
issued only single-foot soldiers, disarmed and run- 
ning at random, with wounds. Albert called to 
them, without so much as making them turn their 
head. This indifference, to terror, surprised him 
to the farthest degree. He marveled how these 
lately fiery soldiers had been suddenly changed into 
hopeless fugitives, and in his innate bravery he felt 
simply humiliated for them thus running away. 

Then he remembered the panics on the great 
retreat, when a battalion had fled from the mere 
shout of a solitary Cossack. 

He thought of plunging into the strife, but he was 
cut across the head, had been speared in the shoulder, 
and was also stabbed twice in the neck. He had 
lost much blood and his strength was diminishing. 


144 


A STRANGE CHARIOT. 


“In another quarter of an hour/’ he reasoned, “I 
shall not be able to stand/’ 

He must quit the fatal field, or perish there. At 
this juncture he heard a rattle of wheels and horses’ 
hoofs. A field piece was coming up at full gallop 
of its team, ringing on its carriage with its unmis- 
takable metallic clank. Was this an enemy’s gun? 
The shouts of the drivers and the officer, exciting 
the horses, quickly set the Frenchman at ease, as 
they were swearing in his own tongue, and he felt 
relieved. Evidently the Russians had surprised the 
hostile horse battery and the piece had escaped 
them so far. 

Albert had an idea; he waited for the time when 
the caisson and the gun swept by him, jumped upon 
the “trail” of the carriage and managed to cling to 
it. No one, among the drivers and the gunners 
seated on the powder box and having their hands 
full to hold on, paid any attention to him; and the 
officer galloping at the head was too wrapt up in the 
hope of saving his gun to note what happened in his 
rear. 

The Russian horse guards’ trumpets were heard 
sounding the rally for those who had started in pur- 
suit. But the ‘four strong horses, spurred and 
whipped lustily, carried off the gun like a feather at 
a gait that would have left the heavy cavalry 
nowhere in the race. 

But the vehicle had inconveniences for a 
wounded rider. Clinging to the trunnion-rings and 
sides, he had the utmost difficulty to bear the vio- 


A STRANGE CHARIOT. 


145 


lent jerks and jolts received every instant. The 
wheels bounded over ditches and furrows, and were 
not delicate about going straight over a stump or 
log. Every hindrance surmounted was a fresh pang 
to the cornet, with their concussions to his bruised 
body. Still he held on, and by an odd effect of this 
mad locomotion, the blood stopped flowing through 
his wounds, called to the inflamed portions being 
beaten. They were not very deep, and the shaking 
closed them. 

He hoped he would worry through now, but he 
wondered whither the artillerists were taking him. 
Apparently, the officer, in delight at saving his piece, 
would try to join the artillery reserve, and the ambu- 
lances of the hospital corps would not be far from 
their station. But this was not the moment to put 
questions, and the cornet merely gazed over the 
plain. 

Night had fully closed in, and the darkness had 
completely altered the nature of the scene. The 
plain was silent, but the houses stood out in black 
on the ruddy glare of a wrecked building in flame 
from a bursted shell, and on the dark ground of 
other houses the musketry traced long streaks of 
fire. 

In the streets confused shouts rolled up, now 
nearing, now fading away, according to the advance 
of retiring of the storming parties. 

In the town would evidently be decided the fate 
of the battle. 

Boissier remarked that, instead of bearing to the 


146 


A STRANGE CHARIOT. 


right, the piece which carried him was headed direct 
for the town. The heroic artillery officer galloped 
within a hundred paces of a large building from the 
windows of which the Germans were firing, and 
reined in his horse to stand as pivoting-place for his 
gunners to make a half-wheel with the piece and 
bring it to bear on the improvised fort. 

Albert thought no more about the hospital. He 
was on his feet before the artillerists had seized the 
gun to train it. 

“Where does he spring from?’' growled an old 
cannonier on facing the dismounted dragoon who 
had ridden unknown on the gun. 

“I am wounded, but I can lend a hand.” So said 
the youth quickly. 

“Enough! lay hold of the sponge!” said the sub- 
officer, who did not notice the epaulet on the young 
man, smothered with blood and mud; “we are short- 
handed, and you are none too many.” 

The cornet had forgotten his wounds, and he felt 
strong enough to train the gun all by himself. In a 
twinkling the piece was loaded, aimed, and was 
sending a ball bang! into the room occupied by the 
Prussians. Albert had aided in the work, but not 
without being scolded for his clumsiness. He was 
busy with the gunner on the right side in running 
the piece forward after the recoil, when he heard a 
singular noise; the bronze of the cannon tinkled 
with a clearness like a gong tapped by a hammer. 

“Lower your lintstock, Folard,” commanded the 
captain of the gun to the man holding the match. 


A STRANGE CHARIOT. 


147 


“don’t you see you are making a point to draw the 
fire upon us?” 

He had barely time to finish his order, for Al- 
bert saw him sink upon the carriage. Simultaneous- 
ly the artillerist with the rammer fell over back- 
wards, while the other gunner slung himself to one 
side. The bullets were pattering thickly so that the 
place was no longer tenable. 

The cornet picked up a dead gunner’s carbine 
and ran as fast as he could toward the town. He 
did not know what he was going to do, but he was 
so transported that he was attracted by danger. Ten 
paces from the abandoned gun he stumbled over 
the body of the officer slain by the same discharge 
as removed his men; but Boissier picked himself up 
promptly and ran all the more fleetly while bending 
his head under the whistling bullets. In a few sec- 
onds he reached the mouth of a narrow street where 
a troop were collecting whose uniform he recognized. 

They were the soldiers of Key’s corps whom he 
had seen storming Brienne a couple of hours pre- 
viously. Nobody heeded him, but as soon as he had 
glided among the mass, it closed upon him and car- 
ried him onward without caring whether or not he 
resisted. 

The foremost houses were still held by the Prus- 
sians, who had fired on the gun, and when Boissier 
was swept by, some beat in the door with their 
musket-butts to clear them out, but the other dwell- 
ings had been evacuated. This was a lane leading 
one way to the country and on the other into the 


148 


A STRANGE CHARIOT. 


main street at a right angle, where the Prussian park 
of artillery was defiling. 

Where the two ways met a frightful turbulence 
arose. The roaring and yelling were louder than the 
gunshots. Everybody was shoving and crowding 
'without any advance. 

Jammed into a doorway the young dragoon was 
uselessly trying to struggle forth when one of those 
sudden breaks occurred in the movement of the mob, 
which always happens at a lull. The throng surged 
over to the other side against the wall and finally 
rolled forward. The intersecting point had become 
free. 

Albert had now no trouble about marching on. 
He was carried to the marketplace, where the Prus- 
sian rear-guard was still disputing the advance. 

The darkness was profound; no light but that 
from flashing muskets lit the way, on which one 
slipped every step on dead bodies. 

The youth swam in a sea of frenzy; he had lost 
his split casque and his sword, and the artillery car- 
bine in his grasp was used as a club, laid about him 
with all his strength. 

All of a sudden, the flame of a volley illumined 
a horde of the retreating foe, and the cornet uttered 
a yell of surprise and anger, as he recognized on his 
handsome Arab, curveting in the middle of the tur- 
moil, the Red Hussar, the abductor of Therese! 

The would-be avenger bounded forward, but the 
flash expired, and all sank back into utter night. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE WOUNDED. 

This eclipse of the man so strangely entangled 
with his life completed the exasperation of our hero. 
All his memories flocked upon him. The sanguin- 
ary picture of Hermann, cowardly murdered, rose 
before him amid the slaughter, and he also fancied he 
beheld Therese’s sweet face as she was dragged 
along by brutal hands. 

At this moment the terrible conflict of France 
with all Europe dwindled down to a duel with the 
Red Hussar, for our dragoon. 

Therese! she might be really yonder, among the 
soldiers, as the calash might be one of those vehicles 
of all kinds pressed into service for the evacuation 
of Brienne, and filling the main street. But the 
most perfect absence of light had followed the last 
volley, and Albert, who had dashed blindly forward, 
knew not where he was. Around him he heard 
vociferations in foreign languages, and he was 
bumped and knocked about by horses and wagon 
wheels. He tried to stop and turn back, but the 
force was less resistible than that of the French 
column advancing. This time the avalanche was 
composed of ammunition wagons, carts, and artillery 
trains. After having all but been trampled under 
by the Young Guards, the cornet ran the risk of 

being crushed by the German army service train, 

10 U9 




150 


THE WOUNDED. 


Still he did not lose heart. His recent combats 
and adventures filled his youthful head with more 
experience and hopefulness than a slap with a Rus- 
sian saber could knock out. He immediately cdm- 
prehended that he was too deep in the torrent to go 
against the current. Better to imitate a swimmer 
who crosses by taking an oblique course. r 

So he let himself drift, but keeping behind a 
wagon so that he should not be run over by a cannon. 
Every time there was a block and a jam, he slipped 
under the horses’ bellies and edged a little to the 
right. He chose that direction, as it seemed likely 
to bring him into the town, and he dared not go too 
far with the Prussians. 

In the open country he ran the chance of being 
challenged and cut down, while he might pass in 
the crowded street. 

At the end of the convoy the shooting continued, 
but it was too distant to enlighten the line, and it 
was here every man for himself. The drivers and 
gunners had all their work to get along, and their 
officers from the height of their saddles could not 
see the man dodging among the cart horses. Thus 
he succeeded in reaching the side of the street when 
a bombshell dropped with its hissing fuse right amid 
the chaos of men and guns, horses and wheels. A 
vivid light shot up and irradiated the scene. A 
French battery had opened on the baggage train at 
short range. They had reached the end of the 
street; the cannon was planted in a field on the left. 
This unexpected intervention was deliverance — or 


THE WOUNDED. 


I5I 

death — to the lone Frenchman. The group entang- 
ling him was the very butt of the explosion. 

Three horses were shattered like glass, and another 
shell within a yard of him spluttered menacingly. 
He was moved by instinct to throw himself into the 
gutter running alongside the houses, when the explos- 
ive burst. Its murderous fragments sent up a hail 
of pieces of flesh and split spokes and wagon tops 
which rained down upon him. 

At the same time a superhuman shout rose from 
the throng. The shells did more than all the efforts 
of the officers; the mass rushed forward carrying all 
before it, and the street was emptied like a reservoir 
when the dam breaks at one place. 

Albert had the presence of mind to roll up against 
the walls so that no wheel would run over him, and 
thus he crawled on some twenty yards further where 
an alley forked from the street. The crowd rolled on 
with increasing impetuosity; the crushed wagons 
collapsed under the cannon balls and the sound 
ones rolled over them; the grapeshot rattled along 
the walls with a harsh scratching sound; but 
Albert had sprung to his feet and was running up 
the lane. 

He was safe. 

In three or four minutes he reached an iron gate- 
way beyond which stretched a long walk between 
trees. Such was the calm that he believed the battle 
had spared this secluded park. But he soon saw 
that the bars were twisted and a breach had been 
broken in the wall. He entered and saw that a 


IS2 


THE WOUNDED. 


large building at the end of the avenue was blazing 
at every window with lights. 

“It is the College of Brienne, where Napoleon 
was educated,” said Boissier, as the recollection 
abruptly struck him. 

The clamor within was not that of a battle, rather 
of mirth and melody. He recognized the song of 
the “Marie-Louises.” He advanced with confidence 
and when he was challenged in the vast gateway, 
answered: “Friend, Seventh Dragoons!” No one 
could be more startled than he to hear from an 
officer, who was quietly smoking his pipe in the 
recess, a cry of delight. 

“Thunder! It is the Boissier boy!” 

The smoker was Captain Champoreau. 

“This seems to be the rallying place for the 
Seventh Dragoons!” 

“How did you escape those hussars?” 

“I will tell you presently. Let us shake hands 
first, eh ? 

“Why you are wounded,” went on the veteran, 
with acute interest. 

“It is nothing — skin wounds.” 

“A nice man I am to shake you like that. Let 
me see them, you know I am a judge. Bullet or 
splinter of shell?” 

“Sword cut through my helmet, and lances.” 

“Eh, the Cossack’s stings — pshaw, they soon heal. 
But I will set them down as ‘serious’ when I send in 
my report. They have set up a hospital in the refec- 
tory, and my friend Martin will attend to you at once.” 


THE WOUNDED. 


153 


On the way he related that he had been taken 
prisoner, but had escaped, and in Brienne had taken 
command of stragglers, whom he drilled into a gar- 
rison, which held the college on the retreat of the 
Germans. 

The place had twice been taken and cleared 
before the French were finally masters. 

The captain’s friend dressed the wounds and 
promised a speedy recovery, and sent him as the 
best remedies, a bottle of old Burgundy, discovered 
in the cellar, and some broth. The youth was dying 
of hunger and fatigue, and he became another man 
as soon as the body was comforted and rested. 

When the captain noticed his smile come again, 
he resumed his story. 

“My poor Ratibal received three sword cuts over 
the head, and is with their wounded, the Lord knows 
where. I expect he will pull through, as he has a 
hard head. I gave them a piece of my mind for 
that, as I did for treating a French officer like a 
cheating contractor, binding my hands behind me.” 

“Did their general allow such ignominy?” asked 
the cornet. 

“He is a fine old general — he had me brought 
before him, where he sat at table, feasting, with his 
wife, and instead of offering me a glass of wine, he 
wanted me to supply information about our army. 
1 gave him a quantity of news, you may be sure. 
Ah, he and his wife are well matched! Who do 
you think they have made her waiting-maid? The 
daughter of that farmer who helped us at Eclaron, 


154 


THE WOUNDED. 


and served us as guide on that unlucky night. By 
the way, what has become of him?’' 

‘‘I lost sight of him after the skirmish with the 
hussars, and my fear is that he was also taken. But 
you were speaking about his daughter?" 

“I said they had forced her to be the general’s 
wife’s servant; it was for that purpose that thelong- 
legged hussar stole her away from her father’s.” 

Albert breathed again; it was clear that Cham- 
poreau, stung by his bad treatment, had not heard 
the whole account of his little feat of smashing the 
wine glass. 

“And the drummer boy of the Ninth ?” he quickly 
asked, to turn the subject; “he who so cunningly 
drove off with the calash?” 

“I am afraid he was shot, for I did not notice 
him among the prisoners. But since we are account- 
ing for the whole command, tell me something 
what became of the hero Paladin — I mean Panar- 
del?” 

“Heavens, you make me remember him!” ex- 
claimed Albert; “I left him at a farm this morning. 
He was ready to drop with hunger and fatigue, and 
we had only one horse between the two of us.” 

“My dear boy, what stuff you do talk! When a 
dragoon is without a horse he must march afoot, or 
drag himself on his knees. He has deserted, this 
fine Panardel, and I will send a corporal’s guard 
after him to have him shot.” 

“No, no, captain! I have not deserted, for here I 
am,” whimpered lamentably a wounded man who 


THE WOUNDED. 


155 


was tossing and groaning in a corner of the hall 
turned into a hospital ward. 

There was no mistaking this lacjirymose accent; 
it was truly Agenor the brave who was thus bewail- 
ing, perhaps the only French officer capable of ex- 
pressing himself in such a strain. Boissier’s stupe- 
faction was at its height; but the captain felt another 
feeling than surprise. 

“Oho! so you are here, my promising cornet?” 
he exclaimed in a wrathful voice. “Pray, what are 
you doing instead of joining your regiment?” 

“But, captain, I am disabled — I mean wounded.” 

*'Vou get wounded? get along with you; show me 
your wounds. I forewarn you that, if you have not 
at least a broken limb or a vital organ pierced, I 
will have you put out of here, to say nothing of the 
drumhead court that shall try you to-morrow. If 
you are not broken in some part, by Jupiter, I will 
‘break' you!” 

A prolonged howl was all the response, which 
doubled the other’s anger. 

“A thousand thunders, will you stir your stumps ?” 
shouted the dragoon, taking hold of the mattress 
and giving it a shake, which drew dreadful laments 
from the sufferer. 

“Don’t be so rough with him, I beseech you, cap- 
tain,” interposed Albert, sitting up in his couch; 
“one can see that he is black in the face.” 

Panardel was black — and blue — in the face. The 
truth was that he had fallen out with the peasants, 
who had demanded money for their food when they 


156 


THE WOUNDED. 


found that the officer was a rich man’s son; as he 
talked grandly and finally threatened, they fell on 
him with flails, forks and clubs, so that his body 
was sore and his pummeled face scarcely recogniza- 
ble as human; the fop was spoiled. His terrified 
eyes rolled so oddly in the blackened sockets that 
the captain knew not whether to laugh at him or be 
pitiful. The better sentiment prevailed and, as he 
was good-hearted at bottom, the old dragoon 
growled between his clenched teeth: 

“Well, it is plain that he is used up. How did 
you get into such a plight?” 

“It was the p p peas 1 mean, Prussians 

who surprised me in the hamlet, and after kicking 
me about, I fell into the midst of the Cossacks on 
the plain, where I was brought in by the ambulance 
men, nearly dead.” 

“You will have to strangle a couple of Prussians 
and punch the heads of a brace of Cossacks to get 
even,” said Champoreau. “A French officer let 
himself be thumped and whacked — you ought to 
have blown out your brains rather than submit!” 

“But they disarmed me,” whined the sufferer. 

“Captain,” ventured Albert in an undertone, 
“remember how you were overpowered in Soulaines 
wood.” 

“The boy is right,” muttered the old dragoon:, 
“They were twenty to one, that time, and I could 
not keep them off. This jackanapes of the light 
bobs could not do more than a captain of the heaviest 

“All this does not include,” went on Panardel, 


THE WOUNDED. 


157 


emboldened by winning sympathy, ^‘that the peas — 
hem! Prussians took everything from me, over 
twenty Napoleons in my purse and a handsome 
watch given me by papa as a New Year’s present.” 

“Papa will give you another,” said the captain; 
“all you have to do now, is get well so as to give 
your beaters a drubbing as soon as possible.” 

The prospect of meeting peas — that is, Prussians 
and Cossacks did not rejoice Panardel, who began 
to moan without expressing any bellicose wishes. 
Boissier had sense and felt that love of country 
should be a master sentiment; he undertook to con- 
vert the other to this passion. 

“My dear Agenor,” he said lightly, “in a week 
you will be as happy as I myself to have some fun 
again, and I trust that we two will make somebody 
pay for thus laying us on the shelf.” 

“You speak at your ease, but I feel that I shall 
never recover from such dreadful injuries,” dolefully 
replied the light cavalry officer. 

“Did you never get a thrashing at school?” 
laughingly inquired Boissier. 

“Why, no, I was always the biggest boy,” re- 
sponded the other simply. 

“Well, there must be a beginning. You will get 
hardened in time.” 

“Oh, it is all very well for you to talk, for you 
like this kind of life. Your father was brought up 
to it and you wanted the Emperor to appoint you 
officer, while he pitchforked me into the cornetship 
without asking me if I wanted it.” 


158 


THE WOUNDED. 


‘‘Great men will make blunders,” muttered 
Champoreau. 

“I wager that you will be delighted before the 
campaign ends,” remarked Albert. 

“Not I — nothing would so please me as to be 
promenading the Palais Royal gardens without these 
trappings of war on my back.” 

“You are wrong, they well become you, and you 
will be proud of them before we are through.” 

“Let me catch him deriding the soldier’s coat,” 
thundered the dragoon captain; “we are not en- 
gaged in strolling the city gardens, but have marches 
to make and fighting to do to save the country. 
You will mend yourself all around. Cornet Panardel, 
and make yourself fit for it as there will be plenty 
of hard knocks yet to give and take.” 

“Plenty of hard knocks?” exclaimed the chief 
surgeon who had approached; “enough so far, I 
think! thirty-five operations since morning, my old 
comrade, and all my knives blunted. But I can 
get them sharpened at Troyes, where we are all 
going. Yes, I have orders to transfer all the patients 
that can bear the journey.” 

“What luck!” ejaculated Panardel; “I can get 
some money there and sleep in a real, good bed.” 






CHAPTER XL 

THE LITTLE DRUMMER REAPPEARS 

At the hour of ten in the morning of the nth of 
February, the last of the Grande Armee of France 
crossed through Montmirail and arrayed itself in 
line of battle across the road at the entrance to 
Marchais village. 

On the left beyond the dwellings, on the wooded 
slopes coming down to the Little Morin creek, heavy 
Russian columns were seen occupying the farm- 
houses and turning each into a fortress. On the 
right the level ground was free, but on the hills 
above masses of soldiers loomed up and visibly drew 
nearer. These were the Germans. 

The Seventh Dragoons' captain and his favorite, 
the cornet, had been spared with most of their 
-- troop after a hard day, when they had charged five 
jt times, and they were ready to fight as ardently as 
I ever. To see the polished helmets, though dinted 
I and scratched, the neighing horses, and the men 
j chatting merrily, one would think the force had 
I come out of the barracks for parade. Champoreau 
L ey^d his men with unconcealed gratification. He 
|| was proud of his pupil, too. 

] ‘*Let me tell you, my dear boy," he said, with 
r that clear tone which indicated the high-water mark 

' 159 


l60 THE LITTLE DRUMMER REAPPEARS. 

of his satisfaction, *‘you are beginning to turn out 
handsomely. But I notice that in charging infantry 
you sit up too straight. You must bend a little and 
keep up your hand. All the enemy should see of 
you should be your helmet over the charger’s head. 
By the same token in the last charge, when we tum- 
bled the Russians into the pond, you would have re- 
ceived a shot through the middle if I had not spitted 
that tall grenadier.” 

“That is so, captain, and I can only thank you.” 

“Why?” answered the senior officer, shrugging 
his shoulders, “you may have the chance to pay me 
back in the same coin, for I believe that they will 
strike the iron while it is hot to-day, too.” 

“Not yet, anyway, I think, for we cannot charge 
down this ravine, and there is nobody on that plateau.” 

“How about those fellows coming up over there ?” 
inquired the captain, pointing to the black lines on 
the Chateau-Thierry road; “we shall get our quota, 
I reckon.” 

“But see, captain! yonder are the Russians climb- 
ing the hills to attack Marchais.” 

“Ricard’s foot will receive them; they have bar- 
ricaded themselves in all the houses, and you will 
see how they will hold them presently.” 

“That is the divisfon our little drummer of the 
Ninth belonged to,” observed Albert sadly. 

“So it is; hang it all! I long to see that lad 
again, almost as much as for Ratibal.” 

“I cannot tell why, but I keep thinking that he 
will turn up yet,” went on the cornet. 


THE LITTLE DRUMMER REAPPEARS. l6l 

“Pooh! If we have to depend upon him to mark 
time, our soldiers run great risk of not keeping step. 
A boy counts one less in time of war, and they 
would not be tender to him.” 

“Still, captain,” remonstrated Boissier, respect- 
fully, “when the hussars came down on us at Sou- 
laines wood we were six; each one thought he alone 
had pulled out, yet, you see, four came through.” 

“Four?” 

“Why, yes, captain, since Farmer Lecomte joined 
us yesterday.” 

“You are right, including Panardel, who is not 
worth counting. But talking of Lecomte, what 
became of him after we dragged him out of the 
slough?” 

“I asked after him last evening at the bivouac, 
and I was told that he was summoned to th-e staff 
quarters to serve as guide this day.” 

“Then he must be yonder with the body-guard. 
As soon as we get through our work, and if we are 
able to tackle our rations, I will send for him to crack 
a joke and a bottle with us. I like that rural swain.” 

. Albert was going to reply that he would be happy 
as the messenger, for no one had more desire to see 
Therese’s father, but the crash of musketry cut his 
speech in two. The Russians had come to Marchais 
where the Ricard’s division opened fire. This first 
attack was repulsed, but reinforcements were hurried 
up for a renewal. Seeing this, the superior officer 
of the dragoons mounted and rode to Champoreau's 
squadron. 


1 62 


THE LITTLE DRUMMER REAPPEARS. 


“Captain,” he said curtly, “send warning to Gen- 
eral Ricard that the Russians are advancing in force 
by the road. Select an officer and two men, well 
mounted.'' 

“Cornet Boissier, step forward,'' said Cham- 
poreau. “Numbers One and Three, leave the rank," 
he added, after a swift glance at the horses. 

At the first words Albert had gathered the reins 
up for starting. 

“Where shall I find the general?" he asked in his 
simplicity. 

“Not so loud — confound it! Do you want the 
colonel to hear you? Soldiers do notask such ques- 
tions; find the general." 

“Very well, captain," was the cornet's answer. 

“Probably in the main street, to the left," whis- 
pered Champoreau, who liked to scold his disciple, 
but also to apply balm to the wound. 

Off galloped the young officer, followed at the 
regulation distance by his two men of the escort, 
and promptly he reached the outermost houses of 
Marchais. The soldiers seemed too joyous over their 
victorious repulse of the enemy to have questions 
put to them, so he rode on to the midst of the main 
street. General Ricard was under a garden wall, 
giving orders to his staff. 

“General," said Albert, forgetting to salute, “my^ 
colonel sends me to say the Russians are coming in 
force." 

“I know it, and am making ready to receive 
them," replied the commander, looking with aston- 


THE LITTLE DRUMMER REAPPEARS. 163 

ishment at so young an officer, and one who spoke 
in scarcely a military mode. 

Albert was not sure that his errand justified him 
to stay by the general, but curiosity detained him. 
In a few minutes the scattered soldiers were at their 
posts. One regiment blocked the street in battle 
array, within twenty paces of the staff. The windows 
were filled with sharpshooters who fired over their 
comrades’ heads. 

The reinforced Russians advanced with that 
steadiness which made them irresistible. They had 
field-pieces with them which suddenly belched grape- 
shot and cleared the street. All the French drum 
corps was swept away. 

In vain did the officers strive to encourage their 
men; their efforts were wasted on the air. The gen- 
eral tried to stay the backward movement, but he 
was carried with the retreaters to the last houses of 
the village, and Albert had much to do to keep 
his saddle. 

The conscripts’ ardor seemed to be spent, with 
all the warlike hubbub which had marked them at the 
outset. They paused here, however, and the officers’ 
exhortations almost promised to induce a charge. 

“If we only had trumpet or drum,” sighed the 
general. 

At this very moment a sharp rapping was heard 
above the uproar. It was the rattle of the French 
charge beaten on a drum. 

“Hark, boys! that is the reinforcements com- 
ing,” shouted the colonel, waving his sword. 


THE LITTLE DRUMMER REAPPEARS. 


164 


“It is the Twenty-fifths,” added the soldiers, re- 
animated. 

Nothing could be seen, but the sound approached; 
it was vigorous, but did not seem beaten out of more 
than one drum. It came from the right, whither all 
eyes turned; but the smoke drifted that way, and 
might cover the advance of a legion. 

The enemy hesitated, gave way a little, then 
more. It was no place to be entrapped, with the 
houses still held by the French marksmen. The 
conscripts moved up to keep closed with them. 

“There they come — our men — our side!” shouted 
all, as a laced blue-coat appeared in the smoke like 
a general leading his detachment on foot rather 
than wait for another horse to replace that slain 
under him. 

Then, not waiting for the unexpected succor to 
be more clearly manifested — eager to show that 
they could have done without it, the troops of 
Ricard bounded onward in the charge. The village 
was cleared again, while, in the space between the 
contending parties strutted one single drummer, 
wearing the light infantry uniform; but the drum on 
which he banged had not the shape of French 
ones. 

A deafening shout arose along the front. 

“Cocagne!” screamed a hundred voices of the 
Ninth Regiment. 

“Yes, lads, Cocagne, home again from Germany 
— but forward, down with the tallow-candle eaters!” 
cried out the shrill voice of the street-boy. 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE EXPLOITS OF COCAGNE. 

The victorious army slept on the battle-field of 
Montmirail, perhaps most brilliant of all the actions 
in this campaign in France. 

The night was clear, the stars twinkled and the 
sounds of war had ceased on the tableland where 
cannon had been thundering a few hours before. All 
around Marchais blazed the watch-fires of Ricard’s 
division, dearly buying the right to repose on the 
conquered ground. 

Here mirthful noises marred the nightly stillness. 
The conscripts were hailing their victory with their 
favorite song, which guided Boissier over the plain 
With his captain’s leave he was seeking for the foot 
soldiers. The sudden appearance of the drummer- 
boy had been the event of the day to the cornet. 
His secret instinct was verified, and the pert boy 
had survived. 

He had but to reply to the sentinels to be allowed 
to enter the midst of the merry camp of the con- 
scripts. In a barn the Ninth Foot were making 
sport, for a dreadful tumult resounded, mingled with 
laughter. 

The sight within was curious. Pitch-pine torches 
gave it the semblance of a rustic ball-room. It was 

11 165 


i66 


THE EXPLOITS OF COCAGNE. 


crammed with soldiers, some standing, others sitting 
on agricultural implements, or empty barrels, but all 
holding their sides for fear laughter would burst 
them. 

In the center of this hilarious crowd was Auguste 
Cocagne, the soul of a burlesque play. 

His dress had gone through queer modifications: 
all that remained, strictly speaking, of his infantry 
uniform was pants, leggings and bell-topped shako. 
His coat was replaced by a gorgeously be-frogged 
jacket which might have come from an Austrian 
hussar, and the drum which was hung around his 
neck by its sling was of Prussian make. 

At the time of the cornet's arrival, Cocagne was 
singing a Tyrolean melody, with plentiful jodelling^ 
to which he apparently supplied the words, partly 
French and the rest incongruous German ones. As 
a finish, worthy of a circus clown, he abruptly placed 
his drum behind him and as if forgetting what he 
had done, sat down in it; a loud report from the 
ruptured sheepskin boomed like a gun saluting his 
comic fall, and it was drowned by a thunder of 
laughter. 

'‘Bravo, Cocagne!" shouted the young soldiers. 

“Lads," said an old sergeant, “I have a sugges- 
tion to make." 

“Hear, hear! silence for the sergeant's sugges- 
tion." 

“Well, boys, in honor of to-day's battle — whose 
name will be written on our glorious flag? I pro- 
pose that Auguste Cocagne here present, pupil of 


THE EXPLOITS OF COCAGNE. 


167 


my lamented friend Camouffe, the drum-major kill- 
ed at Leipsic, who did us good service this morning, 
shall be re-named by the Ninth Light Infantry. We 
have the Little Corporal — ” all saluted the soldier’s 
pet name for the Emperor — “let us now hail the 
Little Drummer of Montmirail.” 

“Hurrah! all hail the Little Drummer of Mont- 
mirail!” 

Cocagne, who had kicked himself free from the 
fragments of the drum, bowed to the flattering ova- 
tion with the modest dignity of a great artiste. 

“Gentlemen and fellow-soldiers,” he said, “I see 
no way to repay you for the honorable title with 
which you have equipped me, but by relating the 
history of my stay among our neighbors, the eaters 
of sour-krout and black bread.” 

“Yes, let’s have the story,” chorused the con- 
scripts. 

Albert lent an attentive ear at this prospect of 
his wishes being gratified. 

“Most of you know that I left the Ninth, in No- 
vember, to go into hospital at Mentz. I left it to go 
for moulting-time to my uncle Lecomte’s farm, at 
Eclaron in Champagne, when the Germans came* 
along in January of this year.” 

“That we know, for we hunted them into St. 
Dizier.” 

“Yes, you drove them upon his farm, where they 
did not stay long. We killed about half-a-dozen, 
but they set the house afire, and they were going to 
shoot my uncle because he fought without being a 


i68 


THE EXPLOITS OF COCAGNE. 


soldier, and me because I was one; no pleasing 
some folks! when we were saved by three of the 
Seventh Dragoons, two of them officers who were no 
gingerbread cakes/' 

“Long life to the Dragoons!" shouted several 
soldiers, devoid of prejudice against the horse sold- 
iers. 

“Now these Austrian hussars that took us, with 
some Prussian infantry to help, had a calash with 
them." 

“A carriage — what a joker you are, Cocagne!" 
protested some doubters. 

“Yes, comrades, a calash, such as you may see in 
the large towns when you go into garrison duty 
there." 

“What would they have in the carriage — their beer 
and sausages?" 

“Well, they used it for my cousin Therese, a fine 
slip of a girl, my lads, whom the brigands had taken 
out of her father’s farmhouse." 

“ And you let them do it?" said the old sergeant, 
frowning. 

“ Stop a minute, sergeant," said Cocagne winking: 
“ I did not let them have their own way entirely, for 
I jumped upon the box and would have driven the 
carriage clean out from under their noses had not 
the reins broken — " 

“ Thunderation ! " grunted the old soldier, begin- 
ning to be affected. 

“Yes, the lines remained in my fist and I believe 
the horses were German, for they carried me slap ! 


THE EXPLOITS OF COCAGNE. l6g 

into the thick of a Prussian division. My escort had 
something to do with this — a tall hussar in a red coat 
who goaded the nags with his cabbage-slicer, and 
called out to me in French better than his manners, 
that I should be shot at the first stop.” 

What a beggar ! ” growled the sergeant. 

When the calash tore into their rearguard, he 
spoke to the sentinels who barred our way, in their 
gibberish, and the horses stopped as if they were all 
of one tribe.” 

He paused to let his hearers laugh. 

“ They lugged me off by the legs, tied me up like a 
sausage, and stuffed me into the boot under the car- 
riage. I had no reason to be cross, though, for it 
rained heavily, and I was as snug as my cousin, who 
was inside the coach. Thus we went on, they 
splashing in the mud, to the midst of a wood which 
I know like my pocket from having gone nutting 
in it.” 

The wood of Soulaines,” interjected Albert, ab- 
sently. 

“ Right, my friend,” replied Cocagne, T am de- 
lighted to meet in this cultivated assembly with one 
proficient in geography.” 

The word made an impression on the auditors, 
though they did not give much heed to the cornet. 

“ They had picked out a fine old camping ground, 
three leagues of underwood and swamps all around. 
When we drove up, they were feasting on provisions 
stolen from Soulaines.” 

“ Hang them — that is why our foragers there 


170 


THE EXPLOITS OF COCAGNE. 


came in empty as a big drum/’ interpolated a fam- 
ished-looking rifleman. 

“ I was not sorry, for I was afraid that I would 
be devoured for the dessert. They pulled me out of 
the boot, and made Therese get out, for both of us 
were to be brought before their general. The tall 
hussar led the march, and the whole reminded me of 
the funeral march in Spontini’s opera of ‘The Vestal,’ 
which I have performed in — when I was a super- 
numerary at the opera-house.” 

“I suppose your cousin was alarmed? ” asked 
several young men, touched by the girl’s fate. 

“She frightened? Ah, my boys, you don’t 
know Therese ! She is plucky : she walked like a 
grenadier on parade and wore such a look that the 
Red Hussar durst not squint at her. Of course, she 
did not care a pin for the general. Just imagine a 
fat punchy fellow, as red as a boiled lobster, with a 
nose shaped like a potato, and eyes of porcelain 
blue. He had a pipe in his mouth as big in the head 
as my fist, and puffed like a chimney afire. He was 
as broad as the hussar was long. But then, the man 
in scarlet was another kind of German, an Austrian, 
you see. They gabbled in their own lingo, so that 
I cannot repeat to you what they said. But,” for 
there was a shudder of disappointment, “ I can re- 
peat the dialogue the general and I carried on in 
what he called Vrench!' 

“ Go it, Cocagne ! give us the imitation.” 

“ Listen, and you may believe that you were on 
the spot. ‘You ein trummer be? ’ says he to me 


THE EXPLOITS OF COCAGNE. I /I 

*You mean that I go — rub-a-dub-bub?' ‘Ja, ein 
trummer-poy.' ‘You hit it, general.’ ‘You vired mit 
dose boors on de droops of his Machesdy de Konig 
von Prussen und his prudder de Kaiser of Austria ?” 
“Please, sir — I did not know till too late ; they were 
not labeled ‘hands off.’ ‘ Dass is gut, all the zame: 
I haff you shot do-morrow morning, if you no dell 
where your Tivision is ! I felt in all my pockets 
and said that I must have lost it on the road. ‘ Ha ! 
veil, I giffs you all t’rough de nacht to vind it, ho, 
ho! ’ ‘I do not want so long. If it comes up, it will 
hear me crying out: ‘Vive la France 1 ’ ” 

“Good for Cocagnel” shouted the soldiers. 

“Pooh, any of you would have acted as well. 
When my account was settled, he pitched into my 
cousin, between two blasts of tobacco. ‘Mark, my 
pretty mait, you vas dese insurchent boors among?’ 
‘I was in my father’s home, when your soldiers pil- 
laged and burnt it,’ she replied. ‘Dot’s so, und de 
vater of yours, he kill many soldiers of mine.’ ‘He 
acted quite right, and I’m sorry I had no strength to 
help him drive off cowards who abduct women.’ 
‘You make von pig mistake, my pretty mait, und 
here be the broof; you are not dreaded pat in mine 
army; you are zimply bressed into de service of 
mine high-porn und well-gonsidered spouse, de laty 
paroness, who vants ein Vrench girl that vaits.’ ” 
“Well, of all the generals — you shall have some 
more French girls for your wife’s service, and I war- 
rant they will comb her hair!” roared the sub-officer, 
shaking his fist. 


1/2 


THE EXPLOITS OF COCAGNE. 


“I said something of the sort, sergeant, but his 
wife came into the tent then, a creature in a yellow 
dress and green ribbons in her hair, with a hooky 
nose that I set down as a parrot. While I was struck 
in a heap with admiration, fpur men struck me on 
the shoulders and put me out so that I lost the rest 
of the fun.” 

The outburst of disappointment was general, for 
the audience were as much interested in the girl's 
fate as in the drummer’s. The most vexed was 
Boissier, who thus saw all hopes vanish of learning 
any news of Therese. Still he resigned himself to 
listen to the tale of Cocagne in order to snatch the 
chance to question him at its close. 

^‘They were a cruel lot,” went on the boy; “just 
think that they made me go through the camp, where 
the meat was roasting.” 

“Poor fellow!” said some sympathetic conscripts. 

“When we got to the edge of the wood, they tied 
me with my back to a tree. One old chap says to 
me, I remember: 'Do-morrow morning, bing, bang!’ 
T know; going to shoot me in the morning; but you 
give me twelve hours to make my will. I’ll leave 
you my blessing. ’ So there I was posted as a sentry, 
without gun or watch-box, with my own thoughts 
for company, saying nothing of the little old fellow 
who guarded me when the others went over to the 
place where eating and drinking was going on. He 
grumbled because he had none of the good things, 
and I took pity on him. I am going to tell you how 
I did the trick, in case you are left tied to a tree with 


THE EXPLOITS OF COCAGNE. 


1/3 


a sentry posted over you. I had a canteen which 
my uncle had filled with brandy in the morning. It 
was under my jacket and had not been smelt by the 
blue-coats, otherwise they would have lapped it all 
up. 

“ ^Comrade/ I said to soothe the old boy. ‘Nix, 
nix, gomratt,' he answers me, making the motion of 
shooting me, ‘bubby-tog of a Vrenchmans — bing, 
bang!^ slapping his musket-stock. ‘You cognac 
trinken?* When he heard there was cognac around, 
he changed countenance at once. ‘Schnaps? so? 
giff me!* he jabbered some more stuff which I could 
not make head or tail of, but the upshot was that if 
I had any liquor, he would like it. My trouble was 
to point out where my wine cellar was, as my hands 
were tied; but I could wag my chin, and he was 
sharp as a needle to take the hint — and the brandy.’* 

“And did you let him have it all?” inquired a 
simpleton. 

“Rather! it was just what I had been for an hour 
fishing for. Oh, my friends, had you seen him sniff 
Father Lecomte’s eau-de vie; and gulp it; it went 
down like a musket-cartridge into a ten pounder 
gun. There was not far from a pint, but he put it 
out of sight in two swallows. One swallow may not 
make a summer, but two of his would make a drouth 
in the Cognac district.** 

Several soldiers did not conceal their admiration 
for this feat of bacchanalian capacity. 

“People bred in a cold country can do such 
things,** sententiously remarked the sergeant: “in 


174 


THE EXPLOITS OF COCAGNE. 


Russia, I saw a wounded Cossack toss off a quart of 
brandy stolen from the ambulance.” 

“Any how,” continued the boy, “it put in its 
work on the old rogue instantly. He rubbed the 
spot where he had stowed it, and chuckled: ‘Gut, 
kamerade, gut!' and winked at me as if he had 
found in me his brother. Next he laid his gun against 
the tree and sat down by it; I suppose the world 
began to spin round him. In five minutes .he was 
snoring like a park of artillery thundering. It was the 
cue for me to take French leave — but the confounded 
rope prevented me. But I had remarked that the 
bark of the tree was very hard and rough; I began 
to rub the rope against it and in an hour I had my 
wrists free. In my pocket was my knife, and with 
that I sawed asunder the rope around my middle. 
I had only to stoop to pick up the sleeper’s gun 
and cartridge-pouch, but I heard voices at my 
elbow. I had just time to slip around the other 
side of my tree when two men came up. It was no 
use my trying to listen for they talked German. 
Luckily my old sentry had stopped playing on his 
nasal organ, as the doctors call the nose — and they 
passed by, without turning their heads. The light 
from the campfires was so bright that I recognized 
one of them.” 

“Have you friends over on the other side?” 

“Merely my Red Hussar, an acquaintance.” 

“The scamp who ran away with your uncle’s 
daughter?” 

“The very man. You will appreciate my first 


THE EXPLOITS OF COCAGNE. 1 75 

impulse, which was to walk into him with the bayo- 
net.’^ 

“And did you fly at him?” asked a raw recruit. 

“Not for the want of the desire, and if I had the 
old soldier's musket in my grip I might have been 
tempted to make a fool of myself, a rash step, for I 
should have had the whole division about rny ears 
in two skips.” 

“The boy is right,” said the sergeant, authori- 
tatively, “only a new hand burns his powder for no 
end.” 

“There was no danger of that in my case, ser- 
geant; I have not wasted my time while having the 
honor of serving through three campaigns with the 
Ninth Light Foot. Besides, I had an idea. The 
young man talking with the tall hussar seemed to 
me a private — ” 

“The other’s orderly, eh?” 

“That’s where you are all wrong, my boy, for he 
wore an infantry coat, and never, in any army is a 
foot-soldier seen to brush a cavalryman’s clothes 
and boots.” 

An approbative murmur welcomed this opinion, 
flattering the branch of the service to which the 
speaker and his auditory appertained. The only 
person who might take offense was the dragoon, 
and he was careful to do nothing of the sort. Since 
the narrator spoke of the Red Hussar, his story, 
previously interesting, had assumed the importance 
of a revelation. 

“By the way, boys,” said Cocagne, really de- 


176 


THE EXPLOITS OF COCAGNE. 


lighted by the effect he produced, “if you keep on 
checking me, we shall never get on/’ 

“Right he is! silence in the ranks!” unanimously 
shouted the audience. 

“In proof of which I don’t know where I was.’' 

“You were sticking at the tall hussar who was 
walking lockstep with the Prussian private.” 

“Good! I was telling you that the latter looked 
more like a school-teacher than a soldier. To hear 
them jabber you would take them for old friends, 
rather a staggerer to me, for in those armies, they 
are apt to tie a linesman up to the triangle and give 
him a caning if he speaks to an officer otherwise than 
as to a superior, in the proper position, eyes front, 
thumb on the trouser seam, and elbows by the side, 
if not under arms. It is altogether different from 
our style where any common-soldier, if an uncom- 
mon man, may rise to be Marshal of France. I have 
not found my marshal’s truncheon in my knapsack, 
but it may come down the chimney some day.” 

A burst of laughter at fancing the boy in the 
high military generalissimo’s costume! 

“I thought he was one of those civilians shipped 
out of the way by his rich papa, and the idea came 
back to me to follow them up and find out what 
game they were hatching. That they were up to 
mischief, I would lay my head. So I dodged them 
quietly at ten paces, forced to stick to their path as 
the thicket was full of dry twigs and the earth under 
them carpeted with dry leaves so that I should have 
given the alarm. And again I reckoned that the 


THE EXPLOITS OF COCAGNE. 


177 


pair were going through the forest and would be my 
guide.” 

“The drummer is no fool,” muttered a conscript. 

“So I jogged on quietly, having no bulk to speak 
of and no load to carry.” 

“Did you not take the old soldier’s gun?” 

“No, it was too noisy; I relied on my knife and 
the rope which I had stuck into my pocket. A bit 
of rope is always useful in the country. Bear that 
in mind, my chickens. We trudged on for a full 
half-an-hour, the pair stopping now and then to 
chatter like jays, and making me halt.” 

“It’s a wonder you were not nipped!” 

“Nip me? nip a sparrow! when I used to go 
‘hooking’ peaches from the market gardens round 
Paris, I had to learn to step as noiselessly as a mole. 
Thus we tramped to the edge of the wood, and as 
soon as we struck the level land, I meant to give 
them the cold shake.” 

“Ah!” ejaculated all the conscripts, with the 
impassioned interest of children listening to a fairy 
tale. 

“Do you innocents believe that here endeth the 
last verse?” proceeded Cocagne. “The pair were 
still talking away like friends, when bang! a shot 
went off right in the midst of us three! I was 
knocked over with such a shock that I thought a 
pine tree had fallen upon me. Down into a rut I 
rolled, with something right upon me. I pulled my- 
self from under as well as I could, and feeling the 
bargain knocked down to me, there I found a Prus- 


178 


THE EXPLOITS OF COCAGNE. 


sian, the meek party who had been talking of 
private affairs with the hussar. He had a bullet in 
him, and the other, who must have shot him, was off 
like a shot himself.” 

“But why should he kill his own soldier?” 

“My lads, I am not in a state to make my report, 
not having asked for particulars; in the first place, 
they would not have answered me and,nextly,it was 
no business of mine.” 

“A quarrel in the next-door family,” observed 
the sergeant, unconcernedly. 

“Besides,” resumed Cocagne, “I have always 
heard that in foreign armies officers have the power 
of life and death over their men. So there was 
nothing to astonish you in the hussar officer sending 
his inferior to look for quarters down below.” 

“But you said they were prattling like twins in a 
cradle,” said a conscript, who wanted to get at the 
kernel of matters. 

“My budding marshal, you are too inquisitive,” 
said the drummer. “Had you been in my fix, I 
reckon that you would have gone back to question 
the general and his goot laty.” 

A burst of laughter greeted the sally and silenced 
the interrupter. 

“For my part, I flatter myself that I received too 
good an education to poke my nose into other folks’ 
business. I did not know what to do with the 
wounded man, who would not survive more than an 
hour. I could not take him upon my back and leave 
him in the Prussian ambulance with my compliments 


THE EXPLOITS OF COCAGNE. 


179 


on the eve of my return to France! Roaming 
around a little I spied a shanty made of pine boughs, 
with a jug of water, straw and leaves and pine-knot 
torches. So I struck a light to examine the elabor- 
ate and costly furniture, and shook up the bed for 
my patient.’* 

^‘What, you meant to carry the Prussian there?” 

“Well, you can’t call it carrying. I dragged him 
along somehow, tucked him up, set the water where 
he could get at it, because wounded men are always 
thirsty, and then I gave him the good-bye forever.” 

“You did get away?” 

“From the hut, anyhow. But as I left it, I heard 
a well-sustained firing at the camp.” 

“On you, poor boy?” 

“Bless you, no! It was a funnier bit of business 
than that, and I am going to tell you.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


GENEROUS AS A PRINCE.'' 

Boissier had listened to the drummer's story 
with feverish attention, for the adventures pieced in 
with his own in Soulaines wood. The death scene 
of Hermann in the hut reappeared in all its horror, 
and was explained by the new details of what pre- 
ceded it. The poor student, cowardly assassinated, 
had spoken the truth and his slayer was the Red 
Hussar whom chance had so strangely mingled with 
Albert’s life since the campaign opened. 

The obscurity enwrapping the somber deed was 
beginning to disperse since a witness of the crime 
had come forward, and Boissier no longer despaired 
of seizing and punishing the murderer some day. 

Still, Cocagne had but lightly touched on the 
subject most interesting the cornet of horse. In 
this recital, Therese had scarcely more than ap- 
peared, and the details of her introduction to the 
Prussian general’s wife did not inform Albert of her 
fate. Hence he waited with impatience for the 
resuming of the story in hopes to glean some fresh 
clues. 

Recalling what had happened to him, the dragoon 
foresaw that this part of the narration brought him 
in. 

“The enemy were firing on me," he reasoned, 
180 


GENEROUS AS A PRINCE. l8l 

‘‘while this boy saved himself on the other side of 
the woods, and if Captain Champoreau had sent me 
on the scout ten minutes sooner, I might have 
arrived at the very time to rush face to face before 
Hermann's murderer." 

He was roused from his meditations by the 
soldier's shouts calling for the end of the adven- 
tures. The city boy had paused to take breath, and 
perhaps to excite the auditors' curiosity, for he was 
evidently vain on the point of enchaining them. 

“Where was I this time?" he asked, as he sipped 
some brandy offered from the sergeant's canteen. 

“You were running away after leaving the 
wounded enemy in the shanty." 

“Right, I remember. What I wanted to know 
was the direction to take to join my division, for in 
the boot of the carriage in which I had come, I was 
not well placed to study the road, and I could not 
tell whether Brienne was on the right or left. While 
I was holding my nose in the air like a hound at 
fault, I heard a gun-shot on the other side of the 
wood, then two, and next a firing all along the line. 
By Jove, I thought, the Prussians are not amusing 
themselves by firing in the air but the French must 
be over there. Let us go where friends are." 

“I always said that this boy was born a soldier," 
muttered the old sergeant. 

“It was easier said than done," went on Cocagne. 
“To go back through the woods was like jumping into 
the throat where one had nearly been swallowed. 

To stop by the shanty was making sure to be caught 
12 



GENEROUS AS A PRINCE. 


182 

if the Prussians retreated that way, and then it was 
clear what would light on me. It seemed to me 
that Soulaines road was on the right hand, and 
thither I set off running.” 

Boissier’s astonishment was increasing. It was 
more and more evident that during this eventful 
night Cocagne and he had all but run up against 
each other, and might have met a dozen times. 

^'After some hours blundering I reached the high 
road, where I felt sure I should meet our fellows, if 
I were right in my guess that they would be march- 
ing on Brienne. But I was so tired that my legs 
seemed driven up into my body, and I felt like nod- 
ding off to sleep as I tramped. It was not a bad 
place for a sleep. I might make a snug bed of 
leaves, and let the drums wake me in the morning 
as they came up. I could straighten up by the 
roadside and, fresh as a just hatched butterfly, call 
out: ‘Present!’ Whereupon I picked out my bed- 
room in the hotel of nature, a hollow tree, scooped 
out, you would think, for a sleeping recess. I laid 
the slats — dry branches, and spread the feathers — 
leaves, and pulled some boughs over me for the 
canopy. I had nothing to do but shut my eyes 
when I thought I heard steps on the road. I listened 
and it was plain that horsemen and foot were on the 
road. They came from Brienne. Russian dragoons 
on the patrol, I thought, for I heard another dog’s 
tongue than German; I will let them ride by, and go 
on with my sleeping duty. 

“Russians they were, and dragoons, for their 


GENEROUS AS A PRINCE. 


183 


helmets shone. A nice quiet rest I was in for, since 
they reined up, as if my hollow oak tree were their 
mark, dismounted and tying up the horses, set to 
choosing a spot for the bivouac. I was out of luck! 
I knew they would not stay there to await the 
whole French army but ride off at peep of day; and 
so I climbed up a tree. They spied my bed by the 
first splinter they lit, and it puzzled them. The 
officer guessed somebody had been there to make it 
so comfortable, for he ordered a search around. 
They came back empty-handed, of course, as I was 
out of their reach; but the gathered leaves and twigs 
came in so handy for a fire that — by the flames of 
Old Nick’s headquarter^, they clapped a torch to 
them. In a trice my hollow tree was a flaring furnace 
in which not only was their bag of potatoes soon 
roasting, but I was likely to be baked as well. The 
smoke came up so thick that it was a question 
whether I should choke or sneeze: I compromised 
by singing like the chimney-sweeps: 

*‘*Sweep, oh! sweep, oh! up in the chimney I rush! 

Sweep, oh! sweep, oh! here I cortie through with my brush!’ 

“I had not miscalculated the sensation I should 
make. When those superstitious brutes heard this 
voice from the skies, they dropped everything; some 
flew to their horses, others yelled to the saints, and 
it was a regular rout. I believe I should have been 
left alone in my glory, if the officer had not caught 
two or three by the collar. Unluckily for me, he 
was no fool, having perhaps been on his travels and 
seen chimney-sweeps popping up out of flues with 


1 84 GENEROUS AS A PRINCE. 

their brushes and songs. He cocked a pistol and, 
leveling at me, he called out in French: 

‘Who are you? Come down out of that, or I fire!' 

“Don’t — I have all the fire I want! Give me 
time to put on my white kid gloves, and I will join 
your highness.’ 

“It is not the pleasantest thing going to slide 
down a burning tree, but I embraced this long-six 
and began to slide, calling out: ‘Stand from under!’ 

“When I landed, the Russians were gathered 
around the fire, staring at me as at a curiosity in a 
menagerie. Their commander still held his pistol, 
but he did not look fierce. 

“ ‘Pray accept my apologies, colonel, for having 
dropped in so uninvitedly,’ that’s what I said. ‘It is 
not my fault; but your cook made such a blazing fire 
that it roasted me out in the garret.’ While banter- 
ing him, I watched his phiz and said to myself: ‘Ahj 
this is a good sort of a jolly fellow.’ He was a young 
gentleman with a skin as fine as my cousin Therese’s, 
small fair moustache, and hands as white as flour. 
He reckoned me up, too, and seemed a good deal 
more like laughing than ordering me to be shot. 

“ ‘My lad,’ said he, ‘why were you perched in 
that tree?’ 

“With that I gave him my version of the affair; 
that I was looking for Ricard’s division and had 
climbed the tree, when the dragoons came up. 

“ ‘How droll! You are sharp enough to be a 
Parisian, my lad!’ 

“ ‘I was born there, officer, to be at your service.’ 


GENEROUS AS A PRINCE. 185 

Things were looking up when a dandy officer called 
me dear fellow and his friend. I was quite easy. 

** ‘Then you are my prisoner/ he said. ‘I take 
you at your word and into my service for the whole 
campaign, and when we enter Paris, you shall be 
attached to my household. Listen! I am very rich 
and bored to death. I am on special duty with my 
troop and had a week or more to go through with none 
but these dull brutes.' He was alluding to his troopers. 
T will take you along to be my jester — my buffoon — 
you shall be lively in your talk and actions, and if 
you cheer me up, I will give you a handsome sum 
when the journey is over.’ 

“ ‘Ay, but if I do not enliven your lordship?’ 

“ ‘It will be an awful bore, but I must have you 
shot,’ he answered, yawning already, as though he 
had enough of it. You may imagine, boys, what a 
figure I cut. Doomed to make faces to amuse a 
Russian who was hipped — and shot if I could not 
make him grin. On my word, I would rather have 
been shut up in a cage with a Russian bear to make 
him laugh. I was in no humor anyhow to joke and 
be merry, with my country in peril, and yet I had 
not much choice, and the best way was to tickle this 
noble savage — or savage noble — have it either way. 

“‘But, look here, prince,’ said I, ‘I am only too 
happy to exhibit my talents, with a quantity of 
which I have been favored by old Mother Nature 
and I have considerably improved them by my train- 
ing; but the idea of receiving twelve bullets if I fail 
to please throws a damper on my performance.* 


i86 


GENEROUS AS A PRINCE. 


‘“I cannot help that, my boy; it is my mode of 
expressing disapproval. At a club, they black-ball; 
in my theatre, I ^pilV you with lead.’ 

“‘Just like at Madame Saqui’s, the rope-dancer’s 
playhouse, where I played the understudy to the 
supernumerary, they pelted the poor actors with ap- 
ples. I am to consider your bullets as Russian ap- 
ples; still, it is a wet blanket, and with the permission 
of your royal highness, the lord mayor, the nobility 
and gentry present, I will make so bold as to offer 
another motion.’ 

“‘Anything you like, if I shall like it,’ he said. 

“‘Here you have it, prince. You aregood enough 
to suggest that I shall be held as prisoner of war, 
subject to exchange for one of equal rank, as is the 
usage, and that you claim my talents for amuse- 
ment for positively one week only — ’ 

“‘Nay, ten days or two weeks, as long as my special 
duty lasts. Afterward, as I must join my corps, 
and the fighting will begin, I shall not be bored, 
then. Put it a fortnight, to give me good measure.’ 

“‘Very well, prince, let us say a fortnight — I owe 
you a fortnight of diversion, first-class and of unlim- 
ited delight. Every day I fail, that won’t count off 
my list, but I shall have to give you another day’s 
sport at the end of the original number.’ Rethought 
that was droll. ‘In this way your highness will gain 
by the modification.’ 

“‘But,’ he said with his distant, lofty manner, ‘if 
you fail to cheer me, you would bore me; if you bore 
me, I am entitled to pelt you, and according to your 


GENEROUS AS A PRINCE. 


187 


arrangement, I should lose the chance of your enter- 
taining me by my having to put you down. It would 
save trouble all around to shoot you offhand.’ The 
rogue had me tight, you see, but I kept cool and 
finally got the pull of him. 

“‘Prince,’ I said, ‘I bow to your reasoning, but I 
beg to have a trial performance right away. In fact, 

I have commenced, as I made you laugh when I slid 
down the tree with my coat tails burnt into jacket 
flaps.’ The recollection of my person, enveloped in 
flame and smoke, set him on the roar, and off we 
started, the best friends in the world. He was so 
content, that he made his orderly produce a meat-pie 
and a huge flask of good brandy, and while his men 
regaled on their potatoes, he and I munched and 
guzzled like old partners. In short, we had not re- 
sumed the march before I had won my wager. No- 
body brought up the ugly question of shooting the 
joker whose jest missed fire, and when we mounted to 
ride off, he swore at his troopers, like a trooper, for - 
not handling me tenderly enough. Now, he did 
not carry me before his Emperor, who might have 
wanted me to cheer him up, considering the many 
slaps in the cheek thdit our Emperorhas given him — 
for his special mission took him with an order to a 
Prussian corps roving on the banks of the Marne, so 
that he was forbidden to scuffle with our fellows. 
We never exchanged a shot and we had the cream 
of eating and drinking, for my Russ was just lined 
with gold and never asked the price of anything. 
Yesterday morning was exactly thirteen days my 


i88 


GENEROUS AS A PRINCE. 


engagement lasted, as I was caught in the woods on 
the twenty-ninth of January, and it was the tenth of 
February. Two days to round up this engagement 
as entertainer extraordinary and two more of regula- 
tion duty, and I might reckon to have my leave on 
the fourteenth. But the closer the date drew the 
more distrustful I became. Exchange of prisoners 
is not made as the baker comes around, every day, 
and my Russ might retain me under pretence that 
the time was not ripe and that General Ricard had 
not sent specially for me, to help cover him with 
glory. This gave me the idea to keep a bright look- 
out and not let a chance slip to leave them in the 
lurch. 

In the morning, we came up with a Prussian 
general who was the one my prince had the dis- 
patches for, and we were free; but the prince wanted 
to look on at the battle without taking a hand in. 
Not for the want of a chance, for we were sur- 
rounded by troops. We were looking on for some 
two hours with our arms folded, when my Russian 
gaped and drawled: ‘Beastly slow work, this fight- 
ing, can’t you do something to pass the time?’ 

“‘Ever been in Berlin when the guard turns out 
with the drums to salute the King coming forth for 
a ride?’ 

“vNo, he had never seen that, and he would like 
to hear the German drumming. I may as well tell 
you that there were a number of dead Germans close 
to our feet and that I had spied a drum; a shell had 
taken off the drummer’s head but not the drum’s, 


GENEROUS AS A PRINCE. 1 89 

and while mauling the drumsticks on which the lad 
had walked into France, it had spared the pair I 
wanted. I did not wait to be asked again but 
jumped down off the horse I had been riding, caught 
up the drum and sticks and commenced my exer- 
cises — like those I had the honor to represent before 
your honors. My Russian laughed with all his heart, 
and I heard him mutter: ‘ How funny — really, I can 
never find it in me to let him go.* 

‘‘That was enough to start me; I shouted out, 
‘ Mind you don’t lose him now,’ and ran away with 
all my strength. I saw the village of Marchais be- 
fore me, say, at a quarter of a league, and I should 
have been overtaken only for having hit on the very 
best moment to shoot my bolj. Our skirmishers of 
the Imperial Guards saw the Russians dashing after 
me, and not thinking I was the object of the chase 
of a whole troop, they sprang forward to check this 
apparently important military operation. A drum- 
mer more or less could scarcely weigh with the gen- 
eral who commanded that charge. Anyway, French 
and Russians came with a crash together, and while 
the splinters were flying, I raced on for the village. 
I scrambled over a ruined wall into a garden and 
peeped round the gap on the other side to see what 
was to be seen. Here were more Russians, making 
it warm for our boys, who were not holding their 
own. I did not see the number on our shako-plates 
but I knew the French by the noise they kicked up. 
I sprang forward, whacking away at the drum. I 
should not have been happier if the cross of the Le- 


I go GENEROUS AS A PRINCE. 

gion of Honor were given me before the whole reg- 
iment, for it was my own comrades of the Ninth that 
I fell among. A good thing I popped up when I 
did, as all the drums were stove in and all the drum- 
mer-boys laid low, not one but me to rattle off the 
charge. Thunders of war! where did I find the 
power to beat that charge like twenty men? I had 
not forgotten the roll, my lads, and I believe I showed 
you the way into the thick of the Russians retreat- 
ing — is not that so, my lads?” 

Immense acclamation hailed the last words, and 
seizing up the speaker into a “chair” of hands,. the 
enthusiastic young soldiers carried him in triumph 
round and round the barn. 


CHAPTER IV 


AN AMIABLE CAPTOR. 

While the story-teller received his ovation with a 
dignity tempered with mock modesty, Albert gently 
glided to the door and placed himself where he 
must meet Cocagne when he came out. He was far 
from satisfied by the drummer’s Odyssey, and was 
very impatient to question him alone. He did not 
have long to wait, as the Little Drummer — the title 
was to cling to him — had left the soldiers with the 
delicacy natural to heroes. 

“My boys,” he had said, “you have been fighting 
all day, and I have been talking all the evening. Let 
us cry quits, and all turn in to sleep.” 

“Good evening, comrade!” challenged Albert, 
extending his hand; “have you forgotten the plain 
of Eclaron, where you came near being shot?” 

“I should think I had not forgotten the time 
when I should have chewed the daisies by the roots 
if not for three dragoons who dropped out of the 
clouds to snatch me from the fire. Though I live 
as long as my grand-dad, who topped one hundred 
and one, I will always remember them.” 

“You flatter your memory, I fear,” returned Albert, 
“for we have not been a fortnight parted and you do 
not know me.” 

“The young officer!” exclaimed Cocagne, as his 

191 


192 


AN AMIABLE CAPTOR. 


eyes became better accustomed to the darkness. 
“The captain's pupil! Send me to the black hole if 
you must, but let me shake your hand!” 

“Shake it is,” responded the officer, as much 
under emotion as he. ' 

There was the less outrage on the rules of grade as 
the scene was without witnesses. The tired soldiers 
were hurrying to lie in the straw which passed for 
their beds, and the two were by themselves. 

“How lucky we all are, lieutenant!” exclaimed 
the boy, clapping his hands. “I don’t understand it, 
for you will never believe what has happened to me 
since I became a coach driver on the Eclaron 
road.” 

“I know it all, for I have been hearing your 
story in the barn from end to end.” 

“And yet I never saw you! If I had I should 
have said good-by and hurried to ask how you were. 
Just think that when I saw your helmet just now, I 
took you for a Russian dragoon whom I met on my 
travels.” 

“The prince who made you amuse him?” said the 
cornet, laughing. 

“Did you hear that story, too ? But what happened 
to you, . lieutenant, while I was making the prince 
merry?” 

“My story is that of my regiment,” said Boissier, 
quietly, as he wanted rather to listen than to speak. 
“I went into the fighting at Brienne and was wound- 
ed, but got around in time to participate in the 
battle which we won this day.” 


AN AMIABLE CAPTOR. 


193 


^‘How is your captain, and his orderly?” inquired 
Cocagne, who similarly thirsted for knowledge. 

'‘Captain Champoreau is safe and sound; he still 
commands my squadron, camped yonder on the 
level; but poor Ratibal was captured by Austrian 
hussars during a scouting expedition we made by 
Soulaines, and heaven only knows what has become 
of him.” 

“Soulaines? You heard how I roamed about 
there; but I saw no other prisoners save myself and 
my cousin Therese.” 

Albert could not help a start at this name; for 
the principal object of his curiosity was to have tid- 
ings of the girl, though he would not confess this to 
himself. 

“Indeed, you left your cousin Therese,” he went 
on, with marked timidity, “in the hands of those 
ruffians. Do you know nothing farther?” 

“Nothing at all,” replied Cocagne. “You under- 
stand that the mails are not running regularly at 
present, and that my cousin and I have not ex- 
changed addresses since the Prussians caught us at 
Eclaron.” 

“But it seems to me,” rebuked the cornet, “that, 
in your place, to release a relative, I should do all I 
could. Her position is dreadful, and — ” 

“Excuse me interrupting you, lieutenant,” said 
Cocagne with gravity, which surprised the other; 
“but Therese is a brave lass who does not fear death 
and she needs nobody to help her if they are im- 
pudent.” 


194 


AN AMIABLE CAPTOR. 


“She is so young and fair,” went on the cornet, 
“and in war times, men — ” 

“Don’t you fret, officer! you do not look at 
things in the true light. Therese is one of our 
country girls and not like fine town misses, who can 
not go round the corner without their mammas. 
She loaded our guns for us while we held the fort at 
home, and if those beer-swillers sauce her beyond 
endurance, she will strike out with the carving knife 
or the first thing off the dresser, like an old Diehard 
grenadier.” 

Albert glowed with the speaker’s pride and con- 
fidence. 

“Don’t be alarmed, I say again, sir,” proceeded 
the boy, “it is my idea that we shall see the girl 
again. ‘Dose avvairs of de Konig von Prussia, as 
mine shenral would say, vas go on vrom badder to 
vurse’ these last two days, and we may give the 
crew such a drubbing soon as may make them will- 
ing to yield up Therese, and that calash, and even 
the general, whom I should like to present, stuffed, 
to the museum of Eclaron. That would teach him 
better manners than to want the girl to drink to the 
defeat of her country!” 

^“Heaven grant it!” sighed the dragoon, sadly. 

“Meanwhile, I should like to know how my uncle 
is faring?” 

“Your uncle ought also be here. Yesterday 
morning, he led the army through the swamps at 
St. Yond.” 

“Why, lieutenant, if you appointed me se'nior 


AN AMIABLE CAPTOR. 


195 


drummer, you could not have gladdened me more. 
Nothing would farther delight me than to take me 
to him and let me see his jolly old face.” 

“Unfortunately, I have not seen him since we 
crossed the river, but I heard that he was serving 
the Emperor as guide, and may be at present at the 
staff campfire.” 

“I will go and find him straight,” said Cocagne, 
resolutely. “Where are headquarters?” 

“Some distance, over the other side of Mont- 
mirail. My division is there, and I should like us 
to go together.” 

“Thank you, lieutenant; only too proud. Two 
will get on better than one, and the old fellow will 
be glad to see you again, I know.” 

Before them the plain stretched somber and 
silent. It was hard to thread the maze where the 
army slumbered on the conquered field, and after 
three quarters of an hour in uncertain meandering, 
the two new friends were lost. 

“I see a light,” said Cocagne, “but on the move, 
like a jack-o’lantern.” 

“An officer going the rounds.” 

“Or a camp-follower stripping the dead.” 

“In either case, we shall soon see.” 

Without speaking, the two proceeded toward the 
light, which seemed to avoid them as they spent a 
quarter of an hour without overtaking it. 

“It is a ‘Red Raven,’ as the soldiers say,lieutenant, 
— one of those who despoil the dead. Many have fallen 
this day, and they have plenty of business to-night.” 


196 


AN AMIABLE CAPTOR. 


‘‘That was the Cossacks’ work in Russia, when 
my father was there,” said Albert with a shudder. 

“Let us go up and ask the way. These villains 
know all about the assignments of quarters, and 
they will do anything for money. If only one, and 
you object to pay, we will thrash the information 
out of him.” 

“Go on,” said Boissier, not hiding his repugnance. 

“It is a good time, for the rogue has come to a 
stop. He has lit on a good prize, and is too busy 
to heed us.” 

The lantern had become a fixed star, and a figure 
could be seen moving in the luminous circle. The 
ground had changed; cut up by the horses and 
plowed by the cannon balls, it bore traces of a stub- 
born fight; many times Albert had to turn aside not 
to step on the dead, and he remembered the days 
when he had been carried between a grenadier and 
a horseless dragoon over the snow-embedded 
corpses. 

“The plunderer has picked out the best spot,” 
observed Cocagne. “The Russians lie here, and 
they always have cash in their pockets. But hark!” 
A faint scream came over the mournful scene. 

“The cutthroat!” exclaimed the drummer; “his 
man was not dead, and he is finishing him.” 

Albert had not waited for the information, but 
was running over the field. 

“Draw sword,” called out Cocagne, as he followed 
with all the speed of his shorter legs; “those scamps 
all carry knives.” 


AN AMIABLE CAPTOR. 


197 


It was good advice, and it was with his saber out 
that Boissier fell upon the marauder. He rose 
quickly and turned to meet the charge with a firm 
foot. The lantern showed his hideous outline. Al- 
bert felt a missile tear his thigh, but he did not stop 
and cut the scoundrel to the ground with one stroke. 
When Cocagne arrived the wretch was expiring in 
agony. 

“By the tower of Notre Dame, how clean you do 
your work, lieutenant,” cried the boy, delighted. 

“He hit me, though,” remarked the young offi- 
cer, leaning on his sword. 

“Let me see,” said the drummer, who from the 
drum corps being often assigned with the non-com- 
batants of the band, to help the hospital nurses, 
knew something of surgery. He used his plaid 
handkerchief to bind up the gash, which was but a 
flesh wound, bleeding more profusely than danger- 
ously. 

“What did he do it with? I heard no shot. Ah, 
a Spanish knife. These rovers learn to throw them 
neatly. But he will throw no more; and he is no 
loss, lieutenant, I promise you.” 

“But the scream we heard? It was some one 
whom he was robbing.” 

“I had forgotten. However, it is only a Russian, 
and it does not matter.” 

“Cocagne, I am ashamed of you!” said Albert 
sternly. 

“Perhaps you ought to be, and I will look round, 

all the more as we have nobody to ask about the 

18 


198 


AN AMIABLE CAPTOR. 


road. The ‘Raven’ will croak no more and the 
wounded Russ will hardly be able to point out our 
headquarters.” 

Albert sat down on the grass while the boy took 
up the lantern to inspect the corpses lying around 
them. 

“Now, then, who was calling? Don’t speak all 
at once, we have plenty of time to attend to the lot. 
What a droll thing that I should call the roll for 
the Czar’s soldiers. Perhaps the gentleman died 
while we were coming up, or the Raven had time to 
‘drop’ him.” 

“Seek farther,” prompted Albert, “I cannot bear 
to leave him unaided if he still be living.” 

“I will review the entire force,” said Cocagne, 
continuing his survey. “It was a meeting of cav- 
alry, for here are horses — nothing but horses. Stay 
— here is one man; an officer who — fire and fury! 
What a meeting! It is my Russian prince, with his 
head laid open.” 

In spite of the sharp pain given him by walking, 
Boissier had approached. 

“What prince are you talking about?” he asked. 

“My own, whom I undertook to keep in good 
humor. He has done with laughing. Look how 
our Blue Devils of the Chasseurs have settled him 
and his blue devils.”- 

The drummer held up the light over the pale 
face, furrowed by a frightful slash from the brow to 
the mouth. Yet the victim lived, for he quivered 
convulsively, and feebly moaned. He was stretched 




AN AMIABLE CAPTOR. 


199 


on his back in a rut. His right wrist was still encir- 
cled by the sword-knot and thong of a long straight 
sword, and his helmet had rolled off beside him. 
He must have been cut down off his horse. 

“Lift him up, Cocagne, and let us see if we can 
save him.’’ 

“All right, lieutenant, I know how to act. The 
first thing is to prop up his head.’* 

He made use of a dead horse as the pillow to 
support the shoulders of him he styled “his prince.”- 

“Look at that; he would not be more cosy in the 
ambulance.” 

As if to warrant his assertion the sufferer opened 
his eyes and began to breathe more freely 

“A drop of mother’s-milk, and he will find it a 
sovereign remedy,” went on the amateur nurse, put- 
ting to the pale lips a flask which he carried slung 
round him. 

The officer drank greedily and his cheeks flushed 
immediately. 

“Look at that, lieutenant,” said the boy, “it is 
his own brandy, and the genuine article. Prime, I 
tell you. When I was engaged by him he served 
me up some every day, and it is but fair that I 
should pour him out the same ration.” 

“He is coming round,” said Boissier, delight- 
edly. 

The wounded officer indeed slightly shook, and 
soon stared round confusedly. 

“Don’t be scared, prince, it is me,” said Cocagne. 

“The little Parisian — the drummer? This is fun- 


200 


AN AMIABLE CAPTOR. 


ny, very funny.” Exhausted by the effort, he closed 
his eyes and let his head fall back. 

*‘Ha, ha!” cried Cocagne, “you thought I was 
exaggerating, and that there never was such a curi- 
osity. Look at that; his head cloven, but he still 
sees the funny side in everything.” 

Boissier was deeply affected by the fate of the 
enemy’s dragoon. He forgot the man at his feet 
was a foe, and pitied him with all his heart. This 
reckless gaiety pleased him, being after his own 
young heart. He longed to take part in the recov- 
ery. Spite of the pain, he knelt down and held the 
Russian’s head, while the boy laved his face in the 
spirits. This universal panacea, as the drummer 
esteemed it, made the wound smart at all events, and 
the revived Russian recovered life. 

“Whew, my prince!” said Cocagne, while pre- 
forming his duties as nurse, “how they have spoilt 
your countenance. Those little light horsemen of the 
Imperial Guards hit hard, for their size — for it was 
one of them that struck you, eh?” 

Boissier darted a reproachful glance at the bab- 
bler and motioned him to be silent. But Cocagne’s 
chatter seemed as agreeable to the unfortunate man 
as his attentions, for his pale features contracted in 
a smile. 

“You have guessed right, Parisian!” he mur- 
mured; “it was a chasseur — not good-looking, so he 
vented his spite on my beauty.” 

“Now it is you who are witty, prince,” returned 
the boy, enchanted to hear his patient joke. 


AN AMIABLE CAPTOR. 


201 


Boissier thought it time for him to intervene. 

“Do you feel better?” he inquired of the wounded 
man, who turned a questioning gaze upon him. 

“Thank you, monsieur,” replied the Russian, 
after a short silence. “To whom have I the honor 
of speaking?” 

“I am Cornet Albert Boissier, of the Seventh 
Dragoons.” 

“We serve in the same branch of the service, and 
though we have fought on opposite sides, I shall be 
happy to meet you on other grounds.” 

This courteous phrase made the hearer think 
that he was dreaming, as it was such as might have 
been uttered in a drawing-room. 

“I am Prince Boris Zodreff, and, since it seems 
that the French are the victors here, your guest. 
I only hope that I shall not die before I see the 
promised land — Paris!” 

“Oh, I will answer for your cure, prince,” said 
Cocagne. “In the first place the edge turned on the 
frontal bone and your skull is as sound as a nut. 
You will get clear with the scar, and you will be 
the healthier for the bleeding — after so much luxu- 
rious life of late.” 

“Thanks for the prediction, my little doctor,” 
said the patient, laughing; “but, since you are so 
skillful, will you please see what is the matter with 
my left hand? it hurts terribly.” 

“Hang the villain! — the camp-follower!” ex- 
claimed Cocagne, looking at the hurt. “He was 
cutting off the rings from your fingers.” 


202 


AN AMIABLE CAPTOR, 


“I remember I woke up in sharp pain/’ 

“I should think so, for he has hacked you to the 
bone.” 

“Did he get the jewel?” asked the Russian with 
anxiety. 

“The ring with the stone?” 

“The turquoise, yes!” 

“A splendid sparkler — no! I wish I had the like 
to give my sweetheart, when I get one.” 

“You would be welcome to it, but it is a family 
relic. I prize that, though it is also a memento of 
the campaign your emperor had in my country.” 

“Our Russian campaign,” repeated Albert, with 
a strange and growing interest, while he looked at 
the gem on the bleeding hand with an unaccounta- 
ble fascination. 

“Yes, the wearer of that was a French officer, 
who died in the environs of Moscow, from wounds 
received in battle; my mother and sister, alone in 
our house, defended him from the maddened peas- 
ants and workpeople of the town, infuriated against 
the invader.” 

“Wait a moment,” said Albert, as a memory 
from his childhood flashed upon him like a beacon- 
light to a lost mariner far at sea. “Let Cocagne 
turn the stone three times to the right — so — it 
should open and disclose a socket with a gold slide 
beneath the translucent stone. Is there a motto, 
say?” 

His hand shook as he held up the lantern, but 
the boy had followed his directions, and a few let- 


AN AMIABLE CAPTOR. 


203 


ters appeared on the secret receptacle, around which 
in a groove ran a few brown hairs. 

“Heloise to Albert.*' Boissier turned paler thap 
the dead around them. 

“Prince,” said he in a voice tremulous with emo- 
tion, “that ring was worn by my father, Colonel 
Boissier, and it was a keepsake from my mother 
when he when to the wars. Welcome the hand that 
brings it under my eyes, which barely recall it in 
childhood — ” and bowing to hide his tears, he kissed 
the mutilated hand. 

There was a pause while Cocagne dressed this 
new opening for him to display his surgical ability. 
A dull, regular tramp sounded from the edge of the 
plain; it was a troop of horses coming at a fast trot. 

“Your cavalry coming to take me into Paris to 
grace your triumph,” said the Russian tranquilly. 

“Or yours to intern me in Siberia,” smilingly re- 
torted the cornet. 

“I do not know which way we may go,” said 
Cocagne, “but my opinion is we had better get 
away.” • 

“Do not let me hinder you, if you think you 
should be going,” remarked the Russian politely. 

“No, no, you may rely on my not quitting you,’’ 
returned Boissier in a decided tone. 

“We are a little too late for eloping,” added the 
boy, “for those newcomers have spied our light, and 
they are hurrying upon us.” 

In fact, the horses approached and the rattle of 
the accoutrements was plainly heard. In a few sec- 


204 


AN AMIABLE CAPTOR. 


onds the squadron reached the circle of light 
thrown round by the lantern. 

‘'Bad luck to therh/' muttered the drummer, rec- 
ognizing the uniform, “they are Germans, and those 
hujsars, too.” 

“Who goes there?” challenged in German in a 
voice rather softer than usual, like that of the south- 
ern races. 

''Offizier — mit Wtinde — wounded officers,” replied 
Albert in a passable jargon, at least to puzzle them 
about his nationality until they had held a parley un- 
der the impression that it was an escort with a flag 
of truce. 

It was difficult to understand the presence of a 
hostile troop on a conquered field otherwise. 

“Come forward!” was the response in French. 

The cornet obeyed without hesitation, and in a 
few steps was confronting a mounted officer whose 
height and appearance awakened a vague remem- 
brance. But the night was thick and the lantern- 
light did not extend a great way. 

“What are you doing here?” roughly questioned 
this man. 

“What is your own business within our lines?” 
retorted the cornet, nettled at the lordly tone. 

“You impudent fellow!"’ exclaimed the hussar, 
urging his horse forward, which movement brought 
him into full light, and the Frenchman barely 
stifled an outcry of surprise. 

He had recognized the Red Hussar, the abductor 
of the farmer’s daughter. He was here within the 


AN AMIABLE CAPTOR. 


205 


sweep of his sword — the long looked- for opportun- 
ity was offered at last. But a second’s reflection 
convinced the youth that a duel was out of the ques- 
tion. In the shadow loomed up the shapes of a score 
of men, and he did not even have his pistols. 

Weaponless, Cocagne could not be of much as- 
sistance, and the friendly outposts were too distant 
to come to their aid. White with rage, the cornet 
still wavered on the point of rushing on the villain 
at all hazards, when the prince’s drawling voice rose 
behind him. 

“Come here, you sir!” he called out to the Aus- 
trian. 

The latter rode a little farther, and as soon as he 
saw the wounded man eagerly dismounted. 

“You here, your highness!” he exclaimed still in 
French, in the most deferential tone. 

“It is I, and in a very bad state, as you see,” re- 
joined the Russian. 

“I was especially looking for you,” returned the 
rider. “General the Duke of York informed me 
that you had been left on the battle-field, and ordered 
me to try my best not to leave you in the enemy’s 
hands.” 

“Very kind of his highness,” slightly sneered the 
prince, “only he remembered me rather late in the day. 
I should probably be no longer in this world but for 
this gentleman, whom I had the honor to meet.” 

“Who? This Frenchman?” exclaimed the hussar, 
indicating the French dragoon. 

“This French gentleman,” said the boyar, em- 


2o6 


AN AMIABLE CAPTOR. 


phasizing his corrective title; ‘‘yes, he has just saved 
my life by killing a marauder who wanted to finish 
me, and I ask you to let him go his way/' 

“But, your highness, my orders run counter, and 
faltered the hussar, embarrassed. 

“Captain or lieutenant," said the Russian curtly, 
“I am known to you as the Czar’s aid, and, more- 
over, a colonel, consequently your superior." 

“I am aware of this, but the general formally 
commanded me ” 

“Let the general know that I act on my own re- 
sponsibility." 

The Austrian bowed and said to Albert, without 
taking the trouble to turn his head: “You can go." 

This insolence capped the climax of the cornet’s 
ire, as he had been chafing during the dialogue. 

“I take orders solely from my commanders," he 
said, steping nearer the cavalier in scarlet, “and I 
do not care a fig for you or your permission." 

The other lost color perceptibly, but he merely 
snapped his fingers. 

“If you were not a coward you would give me 
satisfaction for that gesture,’’ burst forth Boissier, 
exasperated; “you wear a sword and I have mine 
ready. We can fight this out right here by this 
light, with your men as seconds." 

The hussar only laughed forcedly. 

“These French are all crack-brained, eh, prince?" 
he said. 

“I do not see it thus," said the Russ quietly; “it 
seems to me a very proper suggestion. To begin 


AN AMIABLE CAPTOR. 


207 


business let me introduce the gentleman who has 
favored me with his name. It is Albert Boissier, 
and you will cross swords with a soldier and the son 
of a hero, which I guarantee — Captain — hem! Otto 
Minden, I believe?” 

“Minden? It is really the assassin of Hermann,’’ 
muttered Boissier, shuddering at the recollection of 
the death scene in Soulaines wood. 

“Come, come, sir,” continued the Russian with 
irony, “do you still consider the duel inadmissable? 
It seems to me quite chivalric — between representa- 
tives of two nations. Besides, he is but a boy — in 
years — and you are a feather-weight — so amusing.” 

“ I beg your highness’ pardon,” replied the Aus- 
trian, livid with fury; “under any other circumstan- 
ces, I should be happy to give a lesson to. this 
Frenchman; but the Emperor my master has for- 
bidden his officers to risk their lives otherwise than 
on the battle-field.” 

“This is not battle-field enough, eh?” said the 
Russ, with a shade of contempt; “I have no objec- 
tions to raise to the orders cited, but you must allow 
me to regret that I lose so theatrical a spectacle as 
this duel by lanternlight — quite a novelty, and I am 
so greedy for novelty,” he concluded with a yawn. 

“What, won’t the fellow fight?” asked the infuri- 
ated cornet. 

“Lieutenant Boissier,” said the prince without 
giving the man in scarlet a chance to reply, “I am 
afraid it is useless to insist; this is a person with 
inflexible principles. Go and join your army, but 


208 


AN AMIABLE CAPTOR. 


leave me to hope that we shall meet soon again/’ he 
added, holding out his unwounded hand which was 
cordially shaken. 

The cavalier witnessed the farewell with a calm 
and bloodless face, while the hussars, who had nar- 
rowed the circle, stared stupidly. 

“By the way, I suppose you are going to take 
along with you my little friend the Parisian bag-of- 
mischief? where the deuce is he?” 

“I am here, my lord,” meekly said Cocagne, who 
had remained quiet in a rut, and still stood so as to 
be in the shadow. 

The sly dog had clearly recognized the Red Hus- 
sar, and he was not anxious to settle with him when 
he had so many at his back. 

“If he sees my face, he will remember I was their 
prisoner, and my sauciness, and I shall be shot with- 
out delay.” 

His apprehension was not unfounded, for the 
hussar, who seemed endowed with detective faculties, 
seented some mystery and was valready hovering 
around the boy, with visibly hostile intentions. The 
drummer tried to baffle him by screwing up his feat- 
ures complicatedly; but this means could not last 
long. The irritated Austrian caught up the lantern 
and clapped it to his countenance. 

“I’m caught — it is me,” said the boy, with his 
tongue stuck out 

“So I have you again, you rascal!” exclaimed the 
horseman, grasping him by the arm. 

“ No ugly names, or I v^ill shave you,” said 


AN AMIABLE CAPTOR. 


209 


Cocagne, flourishing the Spanish knife which had 
wounded Boissier. 

'‘What is it now — what is thestir?” coldly inquired 
the wounded boyar. 

“Prince,’’ responded the infuriated cavalier, “this 
is an escaped prisoner, who murdered a Prussian 
soldier. He must be punished as he deserves.” 

“Here,go lightly on the ground of murdering,” 
retorted the boy, sarcastically; “it has yet to be 
decided which of us is the murderer.” 

“Seize and pinion him,” roared Minden, forget- 
ting that his men would not understand French. 

“Stay, sir,” interposed the Russian, “this is a boy, 
but he is a regular soldier, and he must be so treated. 
We will go to General the Duke of York, who alone 
shall settle his fate. I can bear the transport — let 
me have a horse. Glad to see you again, M. Bois- 
sier,” he called out, turning to Albert. 

“Nay, your highness,” firmly said the cornet, “ I 
am resolved on not leaving Cocagne, and to bear 
witness before your general against shameful cal- 
umny.” 

The Russian meditated for a space. 

“I do not know but you are right to come with 
us,” he said lightly. “I undertake to explain to the 
general that you are not to be regarded as a prisoner 
of war, as you were saving the life of an officer of 
the allies when you were apprehended. We will 
both plead for the little Parisian. To-morrow, you 
will be at liberty. And I shall be entertained this 
evening at any rate,” said Prince Boris in a whisper. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE DELIVERANCE. 

On the evening of the twenty-second of February, 
1814, Troyes, the capital of Champagne, presented 
an unaccustomed aspect; its usually quiet thorough- 
fares were crammed with the soldiers of the Triple 
Powers. The inhabitants were waiting for the lately 
victorious French forces to come and deliver them. 

The Emperor of Russia held a court, to which 
recreant natives hastened to flock, after donning the 
royalists’ white cockade. The chief of these turn- 
coats afterward had a festival at the mansion of the 
Countess de Muire, the head of a leading family, 
whose house was radiant with lights and the door- 
way encumbered with brilliantly bedizened guests. 

While her aristocratic guests were toasting the 
kindness of the Czar and the virtues of the Prussian 
monarch, a humble coffee-house close by sheltered 
a little gathering of ardent patriots. A yellow lan- 
tern swung over the doorway, inscribed with a faded 
sign, “Cafe de la Victoire.” The decoration of the 
smoky interior was composed of gaudily colored 
prints representing the Napoleonic victories from 
Marengo. At the back of the common room two 
men were sharing a bottle of wine. They wore very 
different aspects, as one was over fifty years, and 

the other not twenty by several years. The elder’s 
210 


THE DELIVERANCE. 


2II 


features were concealed beneath a large flap hat and 
a long coat wrapped him to the heels. One arm was 
bent and rested on the table, while the other hand 
grasped a huge cudgel. 

His opposite was wearing an odd attire, which 
v^as not a civilian’s dress, a military uniform or a liv- 
ery, but a mixture of all three. He spoke livelily, 
with many gesticulations, while his senior listened 
with a dull air. 

“I tell you. Father Jacques, thatTherese is here,” 
said the latter, “and we can snatch her from their 
claws.” 

“Do you tell me that you have seen her?” ques- 
tioned the other in a broken voice. 

“As plainly as I see you, daddy, and I know that 
she is caged in the big barracks where the revelry is 
going on this night, over yonder at the end of the 
street.” 

“How can we get to her?” said the elder, as to 
himself. 

“That is my look-out, uncle; and if you will only 
let me tell my story, you will learn my idea, which 
is not a bad one.” 

“Go on,” said the other sadly. 

Had either Cornet Boissier or Captain Champo- 
reau heard this snatch of conversation, they would 
have recognized the two and divined the subject of 
their talk. They were really Auguste Cocagne and 
Jacques Lecomte, who after many adventures were 
discussing the fate of Therese in the coffee-house. 

‘T was telling you,” resumed the drummer, “that 


212 


THE DELIVERANCE. 


the scoundrelly red hussar was set on having me 
shot and, before the Duke of York he accused me 
of having murdered one of his soldiers, while the fact 
was — but let that pass — murder will out, and this will 
keep for a later time. Happily my Russian prince 
was fond of a certain little drummer of your rela- 
tives, and he fought in my defense like a tiger. The 
upshot was that we were held as prisoners of war, I 
and the dragoon lieutenant who gave us such a lift 
at Eclaron.’' 

‘T have not forgotten him,” muttered the farmer, 
“and I hope to repay him some day.” 

“Upon that, we were sent on to Troyes, with the 
prince in our company, as he had his face laid open 
with a saber slash. He delighted to have me in leash, 
and he bantered with me all the time; he mended 
rapidly and ascribed his speedy cure to my society.” 

“So you have become the varlet of one of these 
cursed locusts who come to eat up our country,” 
growled Lecomte, bitterly. “It was not enough that 
they should compel my daughter to wait and serve, 
but you must also accept the slavery without being 
forced to do so.” 

“You do not understand, uncle. I was not 
treated as a footboy. Why, I would not black the 
boots of the Czar. I was the companion of my Rus- 
sian, and most of the time free as a sparrow; in 
proof of which see me chatting merrily with you, 
while he is at the party over there. But it is not 
because he treats me finely that I hang round here 
— it is to release our Therese.” 


THE DELIVERANCE. 213 

“My daughter?*' exclaimed the countryman; 
“how can your foreign prince help us in that?’* 

“Superlatively, Father Jacques, as I will make it 
clear. When I recognized you on the Cathedral 
square, I was prowling there to study the garden 
wall of the old Countess de Muire, who is crazy 
about kings and dukes and my lady This and her 
Highness That and the rest of the wild-beast show. 
That is why they sent her the billet to lodge the 
Prussian general whose wife took Therese for her 
maid, and they have been feasted there, with balls 
every night to all the bundles of fuss and feathers in 
the town. My prince gets his ^ invite * along with 
the other fellows with handles to their names, and 
there he is, asking me to go and meet him at mid- 
night. Now do you see how the cat will jump, 
uncle?” 

The other shook his head .in token of doubt. 

“It will dawn on you presently,” went on the boy. 
“If my plan fails this evening, it will be worked some 
other evening. You can lend me a hand, anyway.” 

“What would you like me to do?” inquired the 
farmer, whose eyes kindled. 

“Keep watch on the spot which I will point out 
to you. Pay our score and let us be off, as I must 
have time to lay my train, and it is getting late.” 

Cocagne left his uncle at the Muire mansion 
where he entered on duty with Prince Zodreff, while 
Lecomte played the sentry along the side wall by 
the Cathedral. The night was dark, the town gov- 
ernment supplied no lights and all the place seerned 
u 


214 


THE DELIVERANCE. 


asleep; the only sound was that of drunken soldiers 
singing at a distance. 

The more the farmer studied the obstacles 
against him, the less confidence he had in his neph- 
ew’s plan, which, besides, had not been wholly 
unfolded to him. Still he did not utterly despair, 
knowing how sharp and bold was his relative’s wit. 

Protected by the shadow of the church and the 
trees of the square, he was measuring the garden 
wall for the hundredth time, when he heard the steps 
of a stranger. It was no ordinary passer-by who 
stole along by the wall, which he himself diverged 
from to get behind a tree. The roamer advanced 
cautiously and stopped now and then. He looked 
about him in all directions like a man who feared to 
be spied. Father Lecomte set him down as a burg- 
lar or a thief. He groped at the wall, as though 
measuring it — an incomprehensible proceeding for 
our honest rustic, who could only suppose that he 
was seeking for a secret door. 

The apparent thief might be only a lover: the 
servants in such establishments are numerous and 
the maids inclined to be flirts. But, somehow, 
the farmer was inclined to fancy that the woman 
who had an appointment with this stranger was the 
general’s wife, in which case, as he also gathered 
from his nephew’s story, this was the Red Hussar. 

So fine a chance to get rid of a dangerous enemy 
was not to be wasted, and Lecomte tightened his 
grip on his cudgel in the most menacing manner. 
The injured father meant to stidke hard and swift. 


THE DELIVERANCE. 


215 


But yet the blow ought to be given noiselessly, and 
there might be difficulty in surprising so nimble a 
man, although the rustic was of uncommon vigor 
and agility. 

To leave his ambush to spring upon him was to 
expose himself to being seen and so compromise 
the plan of Cocagne, who expected his assistance, as 
well as to give the hussar a chance to break away. 

While the peasant was cogitating over the 
method of attacking surely, the object had recoiled 
from the wall and backed toward him, with his eyes 
upward like one studying the coping; he was far 
from suspecting that he was under observation. 
This change in position favored the first watcher’s 
project of sudden attack; yet, to leave nothing to 
hazard, he waited still a while for him to draw nearer. 

Ensconced by a step, behind the flying buttress 
of the corner pier of the church, Lecomte was 
unseen as he tapped on the stone with the end of 
his stick. The night-roamer turned, but he could 
see nothing. A second time the stick rapped, and 
the man, making up his mind to know the cause of 
this interruption, walked straight to the spot whence 
the sound proceeded. It was tne step the waylayer 
awaited 

“Wretch,” he hissed, “heaven has sent you here 
under the shade of its temple for my vengeance.” 

With his right hand he waved the club while the 
other caught by the throat the man whom he took 
for Minden. 

“What do you want?” exclaimed the captured 


2i6 


THE DELIVERANCE. 


one, but in a guarded tone, while he seized with his 
hands the club and the hand which he energetically 
stayed from continuing the pressure conducive to 
strangulation. 

The voice was not the Austrian's; further, it was 
not strange, and he dragged him into the clearer 
space where the starlight faintly fell. The prisoner 
did not protest, and struggled only enough to delay 
the fate he was threatened with. The pale rays from 
on high glimmered on an epaulet, and the peasant 
recognized in this then distinctive French insignia an 
officer of his army. It went farther as a revelation. 

'‘Why, this cannot be you, lieutenant?" he gasped. 

“Lecomte!" exclaimed the other in the greatest 
surprise. “How fortunate that we meet, for I have 
been so long seeking for you." 

“What a dolt I am to take you for a spy or a 
thief," faltered the other in the same tone. 

“It little matters since the same cause unites us. 
I was in the parlor here when I heard your nephew, 
who is in attendance on a Russian prince, a friend of 
mine, warn your daughter to be ready to get away 
at midnight. So I came forth to see by what secret 
exit she expected to leave the house." 

“Thank you, sir," said the farmer, convinced by 
the frank and simple explanation, and holding out 
his hand; “excuse the way I received you." 

“I am getting used to blows so much so that I 
ask you to assign to me the most dangerous post in 
this rescue." 

The other shook his head. 


THE DELIVERANCE. 


217 


you doubt me?'' he asked quickly, 
certainly do not — but I cannot help you when 
I know so little myself. My nephew and I had to 
part suddenly in the street round the corner as we 
thought a patrol was coming, and he only let me 
know one thing — that I should be at the end of 
Muire house garden at twelve. I have been hang- 
ing round for this hour." 

“That is odd," said Albert. “He is too sharp 
not to have seen his plot clearly. He wants some- 
body here to help him, and her, I trust, down over 
this wall. That was my idea, and I was looking for 
a secret postern, but the wall is solid and some 
twenty feet high." 

“That is a trifle to Auguste, who climbs like a 
squirrel, and always carries rope in his pocket, like 
a schoolboy. He will get over, I warrant you, some- 
how." 

“I believe he may, but how about a girl?" 

“Therese is no fine and tender lady, but a girl who 
fears no danger or fatigue." 

“But, when we shall have succeeded, where are 
you going to harbor her? You know that all the 
town gates are shut after nightfall, and that there is 
no going forth in the daytime without written passes 
from the governor." 

“In a couple of days our army will drive out the 
invaders." 

“Heaven hear you! but in the meantime she must 
be carefully hidden, as the Prussians will set all the 
spies afoot." 


2I8 


THE DELIVERANCE. 


“Let them come to retake my girl — I know how 
to treat them!” 

“I will aid you to defend her; I want to do the 
same to shield you both. I have a proposition to 
make. I am a prisoner on parole here, and the less 
distrusted as one of the Czar’s aids has taken a lik- 
ing to me.” 

“The same who favors Auguste?” 

“Yes, Prince Zodreff; under his protection, I am 
sure my lodgings will be respected; you might go 
there with your daughter. The prince has gone off 
this very night on a mission for his Emperor, but he 
will be back in a day, when I will get him to provide 
a pass for you to leave the town.” 

“I do not want to be under obligation to enemies.” 

“Pooh! the enemy of to-day may be the friend 
to-morrow, in these times. Russia was Napoleon’s 
ally a while ago, and the wind may blow from the 
same quarter once more. Besides, it is I who do 
this for you, and I am one of your own. I am bound 
to show my gratitude to you, for I have not forgot- 
ten that you saved me from Soulaines Marshes.” 

“You saved my life and my nephew’s at Eclaron. 
I am in debt to you.” 

“Clear it off by accepting my offer.” 

“Have it so. If we get Therese out, we will 
take refuge at your dwelling.” 

“Thanks, for your trust in me. To-morrow I 
will get that pass, and before night-time we — ” 

“Hark!” interrupted the farmer, as a whistle 
sounded in the garden. 


THE DELIVERANCE. 


219 


'‘That’s Auguste,” said Lecomte, replying by 
whistling three times like a bird. 

Instantly, at the same place, came the song of 
the Marie-Louises, in the drummer’s unmistakable 
voice. 

The two men went up to the wall, expecting 
another manifestation. 

“Are you there. Father Jacques?” called oDt 
Cocagne’s treble voice. 

“I am here,” said the peasant. 

“Catch!” and a coil of rope was thrown with such 
skill that it grazed Albert’s cheek. But he caught 
it and saw that it was a rope ladder. 

“I told you that boy was prepared for every 
crisis.” 

“Hold it tight,” continued the boy. With the 
ladder, the descent from the coping was feasible, 
though difficult for a woman. But Lecomte showed 
no disquiet, confident as he was of his daughter’s 
powers. 

“Let us share the work,” he said rapidly to the 
cornet, who was going to help him; “I am strong 
enough to hold this down. But we may be surprised 
if one is not on the watch. Will you go to the cor- 
ner and cough if anybody comes along. Go up to 
whoever comes so as to give me time to get through 
here.” 

It cost Albert some pain not to help directly in 
the girl’s escape, but he acknowledged all the wis- 
dom in the suggestion, and he immediately obeyed. 
From the post he chose, he could see what went along 


220 


THE DELIVERANCE. 


on at the foot of the wall as well as in the street end- 
ing on the Cathedral Square. His heart beat high 
with the thought that at last he was^going to do some 
act to prove his adhesion to the cause of the pretty 
girl of Eclaron, and her brave father. 

He had been on the look-out some five minutes, 
which seemed long enough, when he heard a noise in 
the street. At the same stroke of time he saw a white 
figure appear on the wall top. The sound approach- 
ed. He could not hesitate, and he coughed at the 
signal agreed upon. Father Lecomte’s voice respond- 
ed, and the white form, floating on the coping, 
instantly disappeared. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE HERO IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 

The danger of being caught in the escape was 
temporarily parried, but it was urgent to learn what 
caused the alarm. As the cornet had charge of 
the outpost, the duty of scouting fell upon him, and 
he sallied forth to meet the untimely comer. 

The street at the mouth of which he stood sentry 
was dark, narrow and tortuous. He could not see very 
far, but he might be sure that nobody could pass 
him unobserved. It was a gorge also easy to defend. 
If it were only an ordinary passenger, he could step 
aside into a recess and let him go on. It was as 
facile to leap on the enemy and take him by the 
collar if he appeared to have evil designs. 

So he went a few steps forward to enter a nook 
for ambush, but the unknown disturber seemed to 
have melted into the shadow. Lecomte came up 
to learn what he had discovered and was vexed at 
the loss of time. 

'‘My daughter is all ready to come down,'' he 
said. “The ladder will hold and the boy raised the ' 
gardener's wooden steps on the other side, so that 
all is smooth there. Here, take my stick and fell 
anybody who comes. When you have leveled all 
opposition, run back and see how we are getting 
on. 


221 


222 


THE HERO IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 


“I am ready,” rejoined the cornet, “but what am 
I to do if there are several?” 

“Keep them back as long as you can,” said the 
farrner, Vith simplicity, “to give us time to put the 
girl in safety.” 

“I shall die, if needs must, to block the way.” 

Lecomte retraced his steps, and the young offi- 
cer was again charged with the delicate task of 
covering the escalade. His position recalled that 
of the three Romans who kept the bridge, or Leoni- 
das at Thermopylae — only the three hundred were 
not present to help him. While listening, he looked 
back and was soon gladdened by seeing the girl on 
the wall crest. Shortly, she had descended the lad- 
der, and he suppressed a strong temptation to run 
and congratulate her; but it would have been prema- 
ture, with Cocagne to cross the barrier also. 

His joy soon gave way to surprise as he saw 
Therese quit her father’s side and come toward 
him. He left his stand and hurried to meet her. 

“I hasten to thank you in the first place,” said 
the girl, offering her hand frankly; “I know all that 
you have done for me, and I am deeply grateful; 
but time is precious. My father sends me to learn 
what road we take to reach the haven you promised 
us?” 

“This is the street,” he replied, pointing. 

“Then I will stay here to await them; my father 
is coming up as soon as he helps my cousin over, 
which will take only a few minutes.” 

“You did not hurt yourself in getting over?” 


THE HERO IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 223 

inquired the cornet, who thought the girl was taking 
things coolly. 

“Oh, it was nothing — a wooden ladder on one 
side, such as I often stand on to shake the apples 
off and gather pears; while the other was firmly held. 
I would have run greater risks to escape those hate- 
ful people.” 

“I promise you that they shall not torment you 
again,” warmly exclaimed Albert, gripping the stick 
tightly. 

“Auguste is at the top,” said the girl, without 
replying to his proffer of devotion. 

Indeed, the boy’s slight figure appeared on the 
ridge, defined against the sky. Presently uncle and 
nephew were beside the girl, but she was gazing 
down the street. They all four heard a sound which 
could not be mistaken: it was the regular tramp of 
the military patrol. 

“Can we not go round by another way?” inquired 
Lecomte anxiously. 

“It is a long way, but — come — ” 

But, as they turned to go, a form rose as it were 
from the pavement; it was a man who began run- 
ning to get out of their way, but jostling the farmer, 
was mixed up with the group. 

For a moment there was indescribable confusion. 
The drummer caught the stranger by the legs — 
Lecomte recovered from the collision, and took him 
by the throat, while Albert stried to strike with the 
club Before the farmer s grasp could tighten, the 
man yelled with all his power: 


224 


THE HERO IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 


“Help! thieves! murder!’' 

The squeeze stopped a further alarm, but it was 
too late as the call had been heard. The regular 
tramp became a quick march, as the German patrol 
ran up. They were too numerous for a conflict and 
too near for escape. 

“What are we to do?” inquired Albert of the 
peasant. 

“Nothing. We are cooked!” said the other, let- 
ting go his victim, who fell in a heap, and folding 
his arms like one ready for the worst. 

Therese stood quietly and coolly against the 
wall, waiting without flinching. 

“Never mind, uncle — I may get you all out of 
this scrape, too,” remarked the drummer with his 
undiminished confidence. 

In a flash the party was surrounded and seized. 
Albert glided in before Therese so that she was not 
touched at the first onset, and he had the good 
sense to allow his own arrest — for resistance might 
have led to a shooting. The tumult caused some 
bedroom windows to open, for the good people of 
Troyes retired early since the occupation. The 
candles with which these householders were sup- 
plied, as they peered down, cast a flicker on the 
scene and the military police profited by the glean 
to secure the prisoners. An inquisitive neighbor 
who had ventured forth with a lantern, was pressed 
into service and the sergeant of the file used this 
lamp to examine his prizes. 


THE HERO IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 225 

As his inspection proceeded his surprise grew 
keener. 

The farmer but moderately astonished him; but 
Cocagne's parti-colored attire, Bossier’s French uni- 
form, and particularly the girl’s presence in the 
night riot, completely puzzled the good German. 
He concluded these were masqueraders turned out 
of some tavern. The living enigmas did not help 
him out, as they seemed agreed to preserve mute- 
ness. Cocagne was contented with making faces at 
the provost’s men. 

When the bewildered sergeant finished the 
survey of his captives, he directed his lantern on the 
one still stretched on the soil. He had not made a 
movement to run away, not even to rise, so that it 
might be believed he had succumbed to Lecomte’s 
energetic embrace if he had not omitted hollow 
groans now and then. These complaints increased 
when the sub-officer approached, and he tried to 
elude the rays of light. But the sergeant, thinking 
that the clue to the mystery dwelt here, took the 
man by the shoulder with a robust hand and dragged 
him upon his feet, in spite of himself. 

When the lantern was pushed under his nose, the 
disclosure of his countenance told the under-officer 
nothing, but it drew an outcry of amazement from 
the dragoon. ^ 

“Panardel!” for he recognized the Knight of the 
Rueful Visage, whom he had not seen since the 
Battle of Montmirail. 

It was undeniably the unfortunate hussar, whose 


226 


THE HERO IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 


strange chance brought anew across the path of the 
officer who had thought to be rid of him forever. 
The dashing light-horseman appeared in as pitiful a 
a trim as his colorless countenance. His torn 
uniform was muddied, his epaulet half wrenched 
off, all testified to a desperate fight or flight, 
the latter the more likely hypothesis to those 
who, like Boissier, knew the unmilitary inclination 
of this involuntary warrior. Paler than usual — pea- 
green, in fact, he rolled enlarged eyes in terror, 
which finally lighted on his brother-officer. 

“Boissier, my dear old Boissier,*' he wailed, “I 
implore you to save me.” 

“Save you from what?” replied Albert rather 
disdainfully, as he was revolted by such weakness. 

“From these soldiers, of course, who think I am 
hostile, when I never did them any harm.’* 

“I am convinced of that, but you will have to 
make that clear to them yourself,'* replied the 
cornet, turning his back on him. 

The sergeant had looked on at this dialogue with 
augmented stupefaction: these persons who had 
been tearing each other to pieces a while ago, were 
now familiarly chatting together. His ideas became 
worse entangled and he saw no disentangling them 
himself, and chose the highly judicious course of 
referring to his superiors. 

As the column marched off, Cocagne gently 
plucked the dragoon’s sleeve. 

“ Lieutenant,” he said in a voice so low that he 
would not be overheard, “ will you allow me to do 


THE HERO IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 


227 


the talking before what the sergeant calls the ‘mili- 
dary goffernor?' 

“ But what do you intend to tell him ?” asked the 
astonished cornet. 

I shall not have time to unfold my programme, 
for the place, whither they take us, is quite near, but 
I warrant that I will trick the governor if you will 
let me spin the yarn.” 

“ Do what you like,” said Albert, feeling great 
confidence in the boy’s ingenuity. 

^‘That’s settled, then. Back me up and I will 
pull you through. I have fixed it with Father Jac- 
ques and Therese. As for the handsome hussar who 
got us into this scrape, I undertake to bring him 
under my thumb.” 

The governor’s house was near the cathedral, 
and the prisoners were taken into a hall furnished 
with pine seats and a few hanging lamps while await- 
ing the hearing by the functionary. Therese and 
her father sat down, dull and resigned. Boissier 
chafed on hearing that the French army was at the 
gates and half wished that he had not tied himself 
up with the girl’s apron strings when he might rejoin 
his regiment. On the other hand, Panardel breathed 
more at ease since he saw that a high authority 
would have the disposal of him, knowing that author- 
ity, spite of its bandage, like Justice, can be lenient 
to the son of a rich man. Bearing in mind the tight 
squeeze from Farmer Lecomte’s large hands, he pru- 
dently took a seat at a respectful distance from the 
peasant who, however, paid him no attention. 


228 


THE HERO IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 


Cocagne, for his part, did not lose sight of the gal- 
lant hussar. He wanted to “ fix ” him, as he called it, 
and preliminarily made the tour of him to study him. 
After a summary scrutiny, he opened the conversa- 
tional fire in the bantering tone peculiar to him. 

“Asking your pardon, lieutenant,’’ he said, salut- 
ing him soldierly with the utmost grav-ity, “ but it 
would make me grateful for your complaisance if 
you would inform me of 'the time?” 

This question, natural enough in itself, became 
grotesque when one noticed how dilapidated was 
Panardel’s costume; and it was extravagant to sup- 
pose that he wore a watch, in pockets of a vest re- 
duced to tatters. 

“The time?” he grumbled in a hopeless voice; 
“ you might see that I cannot oblige you. I have 
been robbed of everything again, my rings, my 
money and a new watch I had bought for fifty 
louis.” 

“ Was it a gang of highwaymen who handled you 
like that?” inquired the boy, assuming a guileless 
manner. 

“Highwaymen who carried lances,” screamed Pan- 
ardel, revived by the recollection into trembling: 
“ Cossacks or Uhlans — I did not distinguish which, 
as I was so wild with fury.” 

“ You must have been very wild to be so tame 
now,” remarked Cocagne without losing his perfect 
gravity. “ But may I make so bold, my lieutenant, 
to inquire where this happened? Not in the streets 
of Troyes, of course, since one cannot travel ten feet 


THE HERO IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 229. 

here without stumbling into the arms of a provost- 
marshal’s guard.’ 

Would to heaven that I had been assaulted in a 
town — I should have taught the ruffians a lesson,” 
snarled the hussar with a menacing air. 

I quite agree with you, lieutenant; you sang 
out for help! a while ago in a voice to which the 
town-crier’s is a feeble whisper. A little more and 
you would have roused the whole town.” 

‘‘What did you stop me for?” snarled Panardel, 
more and more sulky; “if it were not for you being 
always in the way, I should be in safety in a house I 
know about.” 

“But that is a little your own fault, if I may say 
so out of the respect which I owe to you, lieutenant. 
We were having a quiet talk on private matters when 
you tumbled upon us without crying ‘Look out!’ and 
my uncle had to lay hold of you to prevent you 
falling. You ought to be grateful to him.” 

“Your uncle has far too heavy a hand,” muttered 
Agenor, rubbing his neck. 

“So, officer,” went on Cocagne, without dwelling 
on this well-founded reproach, “you met these bad 
characters on the battle-field?” 

“You might guess that,” returned Panardel, “do 
I not look to have been in the worst of it all the 
day? Am I not in the light-horse which has to go 
in the first, and has the rear to defend when there is 
a retiring movement?” 

“Just so, lieutenant, and I am ready to believe 


15 


230 


THE HERO IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 


you are the best rider in yoiir troop — for you are the 
first to get into Troyes.” 

“And they call the emperor a man of far-sighted- 
ness — he who assigned me to the light cavalry, when 
I should have been so nicely fitted as an officer of 
the army service train. That is a comfortable arm 
of the forces; their officers jog along beside the slow 
wagons, and they will turn up to-morrow without 
having seen one of those villainous Cossack lances. 
But we had to show the way for everybody in front 
of Mery, chokefull of Prussians. There was only 
one bridge to cross the river on, and that was half 
burnt. You would think that was an excellent 
excuse for halting us to have breakfast and rest a 
little until the repairs were done. Very much so! 
our cranky general spurred his horse over the 
charred planks and all the regiment were fools 
enough to follow him, so that I was carried along. 
And into th^ bargain, we met firing in the village, 
and cavalry that ran at us without saying, ‘We are 
coming!’ I was knocked off my horse, my clothes 
torn, battered, lanced, and robbed before I knew 
what it was all about.” 

“But you did pick yourself up, and made good 
time into Troyes?” inquired the drummer with 
splendid coolness. 

“Indeed, I got away and saved myself,” returned 
Agenor with the energy of the coward whose spirit 
was in arms, “and they will not catch me coming to 
such a spread again, for I have had enough of it at 
last. It is all very well for those who have nothing 


THE HERO IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 


231 


to lose, to get into low rough riots like that; but I 
am well-off, and I know when I am well-off. My 
father has ever so much money and he shall pay the 
bounty again — ay, for two or three substitutes if that 
must be, while I stay here at our correspondent 
Potard’s, the grocer in a large way — he will stow me 
away somewhere until all these atrocities are over.” 

Bossier and the farmer quivered with indignation 
at hearing this frank confession of pacific principles, 
and exchanged fiery looks. Therese had shrunk to 
a corner, where she sat in high disgust. But her 
cousin seemed to take the greatest interest in the 
shameful declarations of this hero in spite of himself. 

“It appears, then, lieutenant,” he said tranquilly, 
“that you were going to this grocer’s on a little 
sociable visit when we had the advantage of meet- 
ing you?” 

“Certainly I was hurrying thither, and had it not 
been for your brutal relative, I might be supping 
under his roof tree now.” 

On hearing Panardel’s discourteous adjective 
applied to him, Lecomte started up on his bench, 
and would have corrected the saucebox if Boissier 
had not stayed him, for the cornet perceived that 
the drummer was drawing out the recreant with a 
view. The boy was evidently born for diplomacy, 
for none of the feelings showed on his features which 
the dastardly avowals must have excited. Quite the 
reverse, for he assumed his most winning air to coax 
forth further confidences. 

“Storekeepers go to bed early in this town,” he 


232 


THE HERO IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 


remarked, laughing, ‘‘and good old Pothooks — I 
mean Potard, will welcome you better in the morn- 
ing.” 

“If these confounded blunderers do not keep us 
longer.” 

“There is no danger of that, if you will let me 
work out your release,” said the boy. 

“It is my dearest wish!” exclaimed Panardel, 
eagerly. 

“Only, I want to know when our friends are 
coming.” 

“Do you mean the French army?” 

“Yesj^they were coming this way, I thought, to 
be at Mery.” 

“I cannot tell,” piteously sighed the hussar, not 
in a position to afford information about an action 
where he had been maltreated; “but on the way 
hither were lots of Germans on the flight like me.” 

“Then I have my means to twist the Kommantand 
round my finger.” 

The sergeant came to usher all the prisoners into 
a court-room, through corridors and a guard-room 
full of soldiers. 

“They are taking us to prison,” wailed Agenor. 

“Excuse me, lieutenant,” explained the know- 
ing Cocagne, “but you took us for footpads, and 
now you see the town hall is a jail. This is not 
flattering for our good old town of Troyes. We are 
simply brought up before the justice as though we 
had kicked up a row in the street. You thought the 
Prussians were savages like the Russians? Not a 


THE HERO IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 


233 


bit of it; they are the most civilized of nations, and 
you will see that, if we are to be hanged, drawn and 
quartered, it would be done with all the formalities 
and some extra trimmings to boot. We have no 
lawyer, but I shall not ask the court for one, as I am 
competent to defend the company of us all alone.” 

The speaker had reason on his side in reckoning 
on the Teuton’s liking for forms, as the important 
judicial officer who was to decide on their fate made 
his entry into the courtroom with all the majesty of 
a Chief-Justice. 


CHAPTER XVIL 


A POOR EXCUSE IS BETTER THAN NONE. 

This police justice was an old, short and obese 
man. His ruddy face was ornamented with a hu e 
nose, with a violet hue gained in the Berlin beer 
saloons; his small round eyes, blemished by over- 
indulgence in strong tobacco, stared like the owl’s, 
and his Falstaffian girth was imperfectly contained 
within a belt of generous width. 

This character out of a farce was followed by a 
soldier who solemnly carried a monstrous beer-pot, 
and a colossal china pipe to match. When the 
orderly had placed these on the desk, much as the 
servant sets down the glkss of water for the lecturer, 
the civil-military governor took his place on the 
seat with a leisure full of dignity. Then, gravely 
settling back in the chair, and letting his gaze wan- 
der toward the prisoners, he drew out a horn snuff 
box and prepared to take a pinch. He was carrying 
it with a flourish to his nose, when the drummer-boy 
rose, skipped up to the rail which defended Themis 
from the public, and held out his snapping fingers 
with the gesture familiar to confirmed snuffers when 
soliciting a pinch. This forward request was cal- 
culated to shock the justice in epaulets, who made 
as if to draw away the box, but there is a free- 
masonry among users of tobacco in every form, 


A POOR EXCUSE IS BETTER THAN NONE. 235 

and the box can no more be withheld by the polite 
than light from a smoker. Therefore Cocagne was 
tacitly permitted to dip his finger and thumb into 
the box, which audacious familiarity won him a 
smile of condescension. To complete the concilia- 
tion of his judge, the drummer snuffed the dust with 
high relish and said with the air of appreciation: 

‘•Excellent, major, most excellent! I wager that 
the Emperor Napoleon, who is so fond of the weed 
that he has a special pocket for snuff in his waist- 
coat, never had better than that?” 

Flattered by the comparison, the governor as- 
sumed an Olympian pose, and fixed on the speaker 
a glance which he fancied was perspicacious. 

“Who are you, my boy?” he said in French, but 
with a strong accent which it is needless to repro- 
duce. 

“A drummer, major, a mere drummer, and a 
prisoner of war into the bargain.” 

“And all those folk?” continued the justice, 
lighting his pipe with all the care befitting the 
operation. 

“Two French officers captured like myself at 
Montmirail by the ever-victorious armies of the 
Allied Emperors, major, together with a couple of 
citizens of this place.” 

“Since you are prisoners,” said the justice with 
kindly mien, “how is it that you get yourself taken 
up in the street at the hour when you should have 
been in the quarters assigned you, and why did you 
disturb the good folk with your shouting?” 


236 A POOR EXCUSE IS BETTER THAN NONE. 

“I was going to tell you the story, major,'* re- 
turned the boy with innocent expression; *^the two 
officers whom you behold are out on parole, and J, 
who have not the advantage of rank, was let loose, 
so to say, to be their orderly. Hence — " 

‘‘Stop a bit, little drummer," interrupted the 
governor, with a cunning look, “it seems to me that 
you did not properly brush that one's coat," refer- 
ring to Panardel’s dilapidated uniform. 

“That’s nothing, major, for he is the dandy of 
our army, but his things were tumbled about in our 
arrest. When I fix him up for parade, bless you, he 
is almost as gorgeous as one of your Uhlans. As a 
proof that I can valet to rights, just give an eye to 
the other officer,” added the lad, pointing to Boissier, 
v/ho was biting his lips with rage and impatience. 

The Prussian nodded his head like a man who 
was up to the mark in military bearing, and pursued 
his interrogations after absorbing two noble glasses 
of the beer. “But you have not explained the riot? 
I guess that it was about the woman, for you French 
are always making fools of yourselves over the fair 
sex!" chuckled the major, and making Therese 
blush. 

“It was not that, though you almost hit it,” said 
Cocagne in haste, for he feared an untimely out- 
break from Lecomte. “It was just this way. We 
were going along peacefully, when this occurred'. 
The public lamps are not lit every night, and it was 
as black as an oven by the cathedral, where my 
officer yonder, being in the front, ran against the 


A POOR EXCUSE IS BETTER THAN NONE. 2 ^ 


Civilian, and the two grappled and fell about and 
abused one another, so that your vigilant patrol of 
course ran up and netted the lot of us. That is the 
whole of it, and there's not a grain of mischief in it.” 

Visibly shaken by the narrator's sincerity of tone, 
the governor questioned the only German witness of 
the scene, the sergeant, who bore the boy's evidence 
out. 

‘Tt looks as though you were speaking the truth,” 
said the major. “I will just hear the townsman’s 
version, and ” 

“Don't take the trouble to question him, gover- 
nor, for the poor soul is as deaf as a post,” said 
Cocagne with rare impudence, while he darted a 
look on Lecomte for him not to contradict him. “I 
will answer for him, to save time, and tell you the 
drollest part of the adventure. This honest old 
chap lives in the same house as where we are lodged, 
and we were all making for the same point when we 
fell upon one another like the cards in a card-castle.” 

He continued his appealing glance to his uncle, 
who had hard work to restrain himself. 

“Where is the house you speak of?” inquired the 
governor; “it must be a big one to lodge so many 
souls.” 

“Not far, and if you will send me to it, I will 
bring back the owner, the celebrated grocer in a 
large way, whose honorable name is Potard.” 

The cornet began to understand. The trick 
would win, if the German allowed the cunning boy 
to have five minutes' talk with the storekeeper, who 


238 A POOR EXCUSE IS BETTER THAN NONE. 

would gladly tell a white lie in favor of his rich 
town correspondent’s son. The release of Panardel 
meant the release of all, and the rest might be easy. 

Reclining in his chair, the military Solomon was 
in no hurry to decide on the thorny question. 

“I will order this grocer to be brought here,” he 
said after five minutes, as he turned to repeat the 
order to the sergeant. “Where does he keep his 
store?” 

This sending of a stranger did not suit the 
scheme, and Cocagne hastened to raise a difficulty. 

“I was going to say, major, that I know the house 
very well, but not the name of the street. I have 
not been long in town and I am not given to roam- 
ing about.” 

“But I know where Potard lives,” interposed 
Panardel stupidly; “it is in the Bishop’s Square, the 
first store on the right going from here.” 

It was scarcely possible to be more awkward, and 
spite of the difference in rank, Cocagne could have 
beaten the blunderer who upset his designs. On 
account of the judge’s presence, he had to be satis- 
fied with casting a scornful look upon him, happily 
remarked by Boissier alone. Fortunately the ser- 
geant’s ignorance came into play. 

“Well,” said the governor, when convinced of his 
subordinates incapacity to go into the streets with- 
out a guide, “I will send you with the sergeant, 
boy, but keep the others as hostages.” 

“That is right, major,” returned the drummer, 
delighted by the turn the current was taking, “you 


A POOR EXCUSE IS BETTER THAN NONE. 239 

will not have to smoke many pipes, for I will bring 
the grocer in a jiffy. Still, if you would let this 
officer come along, too,” indicating Panardel, ‘‘M. 
Potard would move more briskly, for a drummer 
will have little sway over a respectable tradesman, 
while my officer would make it clear in a minute.” 

The governor, who was not rapid in coming to 
conclusions, again sank into profound meditation. 

'T consent,” at last he observed. “The sergeant 
will take four men to keep guard of you, but I notify 
you, little drummer, that I shall send the others into 
prison if you are not back before my pipe is smoked 
out. Be off, little drummer,” the equitable magis- 
trate added, as he enveloped himself in a nicotian 
cloud. 

Cocagne waited for no more, he pulled Panardel 
by the sleeve into rising and coming with the ser- 
geant. 

“We shall have Potard back with us before he is 
half through,” he calculated on marking the capac- 
ity of the pipe-chronometer. 

Several minutes subsequently, the little party were 
again perambulating the streets, Cocagne and Pam 
ardel in the midst of the squad, with the sergeant 
swinging a lantern. The hussar cornet, whose dull 
brain had not clearly followed the sly lad’s strata- 
gem, only understood one thing, that they were go- 
ing to find a bail in the person of his father’s trade- 
friend, the grocer. But the drummer deemed it 
useful to inculcate the lesson to be recited before 
the tradesman. 










240 A POOR EXCUSE IS BETTER THAN NONE. 


^‘Asking your pardon, lieutenant,'' he inquired, 
lowering his voice in the improbable event of one of 
the foreigners understanding French, ‘‘what sort of 
a man is your papa's correspondent?" 

“He is a very well-to-do man, and has a com- 
fortable house, where he can give me abed, in which 
I shall be at my ease," replied the sybarite, always 
dwelling on his personal comfort. 

“I am not worried on that score. I want only to 
know if he is a sharp rogue, able to help me stuff 
the fat major with lies." 

“Lies! Do you imagine that he will injure him- 
self and me, too, to extricate you from a dilemma?" 
exclaimed Panardel, with the bluntness of a perfect 
egotist. 

“Lieutenant, I take the liberty of relying on you 
to back me up in my little fiction and bend him to 
it." 

“What? the stuff you have palmed upon the 
honest justice? not at all, not in the least. I do not 
know you, and I don't like to meddle with what 
does not concern me." 

“Still, I think that it does concern you a little," 
replied the boy, softly. “If the governor finds that 
I have been gammoning him, he will not make any 
fine difference between us, but box you up in the 
stone cage along with the rest." 

Panardel replied merely with a moan to this very 
likely suggestion. 

“This does not include," went on Cocagne, 
calmly, “that, if our Allied Heroes have to cut 


A POOR EXCUSE IS BETTER THAN NONE. 24I 


away from here to-night, or to-morrow, the French 
who march in will imagine that you deserted at 
Mery.” 

“No such a thing!” protested the hussar; “I had 
my horse killed and I came here to buy one at the 
regular market.” 

“Hem!” coughed the drummer. “The provost- 
marshal will not see it in that light, and he will not 
smoothe over matters as I expect you can get Potard 
to do.” 

“But how?” gasped Panardel, shaken by the 
boy's unfaltering coolness. 

“I haven’t the time to lay down the plan before 
you; but if you will back me up and say Amen, in 
the right places, I bet I will mold the old chap to 
my pattern.” 

“Do anything you like,” sighed Agenor, “but do 
not get me into any trouble.” 

Debouching upon Bishop Square, the house and 
store of Potard, stood out as token that the grocer 
did finely with his merchandise. The shutters were 
up, but there were lights on the parlor floor overhead. 

“Good luck!” exclaimed Cocagne, “the old boy 
has not gone to bed.” 

On the door being pointed out by Panardel who 
was anxious to get out of the quandary, the sergeant 
pounded roughly on it with his musket butt. No- 
body ran to open, but the lights were snuffed out. 

“That is odd,” muttered the boy; “can the trades- 
man be plotting something against the King of 
Prussia that he will not open to his soldiers?’ 


242 A POOR EXCUSE IS BETTER THAN NONE. 

The Prussians seemed inclined to beat the 
panels in, and Cocagne saw no harm in force being 
employed to obtain the hearing he wanted. Stilly 
second thought suggested that it was a poor method 
of winning the dealer to his side, and he determined 
to essay persuasion. Making the sergeant a sign to 
go softly, he stepped up to the portals, and clapped 
an ear to the keyhole. 

Doubtless the Prussian submitted to the ascend- 
ancy of the sprightly boy. His ignorance of Paris- 
ian slang and the French tongue deprived him of 
the pleasure of enjoying the lad’s jests, but he could 
at least relish his grimaces, and they had completely 
captivated him. It was plain that he kept a serious 
countenance before the capers from respect for his 
rank, but he enjoyed the fun inwardly. Hence he 
offered no opposition to the youth taking the lead 
so freely, and the boy could play the eavesdropper 
at his ease, while the soldiers stood at ease also 
leaning on their gun. 

Cocagne’s idea was not bad, for he heard muffled 
steps furtively approaching the outlet. Straining 
his sense of hearing, he advised silence to the others 
by the classical gesture of waving them back with 
the open Ji^-nd. The sound abruptly ceased, with 
the probability that the person within was applying 
his eye to the orifice in the lock to scrutinize the 
strangers. Cocagne did not mean to give him the 
time, for he stood up against the door to intercept 
the visual ray. He beckoned Panardel to draw near. 


A POOR EXCUSE IS BETTER THAN NONE. 243 

“Call him by his name,” he whispered; “he will 
recognize your voice and open to us.” 

The sub-lieutenant, heretofore resigned to obey- 
ing his inferior, showed little eagerness to oblige; 
but Cocagne employed an irresistible argument. 

“Do you prefer the Prussians lugging us back to 
the lock-up?” he muttered in the gay hussar’s ear. 
“The major will see we were hoaxing him; but I 
don’t care, for I shall get it lighter than you.” 

Panardel quivered at the mention of prison; he 
saw himself dragged before a council of war and 
made to account for his retirement from the field of 
Mery. This was more than ample to move him, and 
he took his sweetest voice to charm his father’s 
correspondent; 

“Potard — M. Potard;” he called on the high 
notes, “open the door, it is I, Panardel, your corre- 
spondent’s son. Open quick, as I have urgent 
business with you. I am wounded,” added the 
hussar, who had the art of lying and embellished his 
tale. 

He had grounds to rely on this appeal to Potard’s 
compassion, for the key coula be instantly heard 
turning in the lock. 

Cocagne drew aside and shoved Agenor forward, 
with the view of presenting to the trader’s eyes his 
acquaintance and prevent the slamming of the door 
on the nose of the stranger. 

“Put it to him hot,” he prompted the lieutenant, 
“and hug him before he can shut us out.” 

More and more swayed by the drummer, Agenor 


244 A POOR EXCUSE IS BETTER THAN NONE. 


leaped upon the grocer as soon as he opened the 
door and hugged him with affectionate fury. Sur- 
prised and frightened by this attack, the man nearly 
let fall a candle he held in hand, and receded with a 
grumbling outcry: 

‘‘Not so much noise, M. Panardel, not so loud!” 

The drummer had already slipped in by the door 
while ajar. He opened it to its full width, so as to 
usher in the soldiers and sergeant, whom this inci- 
dent seemed to rejoice. The grocer welcomed this 
irruption with smothered screams of fright and tried 
to beat a retreat. 

Always confident of his eloquence, Cocagne spoke 
to calm the tradesman and explain matters. 

“Greeting to the principal grocer of Troyes!” he 
said, gravely saluting with his hand to his shako, 
“whom I beseech to overlook our indiscretion in 
penetrating his domicile at an untimely hour.” 

“What do you want?” demanded Potard, suc- 
ceeding in freeing himself from the embrace of the 
young man, but less and less at ease. 

“In a minute I will make this as clear as your 
olive oil, worthy M. Potard,” went on Cocagne with 
imperturbable calmness, “but we should talk all the 
better if you were to conduct us to your parlor over 
the store, where my lieutenant will not be sorry to 
have a rest.” 

“Upstairs — in my parlor?” stammered the grocer, 
giving unequivocal tokens of terror, “that’s impossi- 
ble; I have company.” 

“Oh, do not let that distress you, for we can 


A POOR EXCUSE IS BETTER THAN NONE. 245 

make ourselves at home in any society, and we shall 
not detain you long.’' 

'‘I entreat you, M. Potard,” Panardel supported 
him; ‘'for my father’s sake.” 

“But it is not you I object to,” faltered the store- 
keeper, “it is these soldiers; they would never do.” 

“Oh, is it the German gentlemen who bother 
you,” struck in the drummer. “Wait, I will manage 
that.” 

This parley had taken place in a passage which 
opened into the capacious stores of Potard, and by 
the feeble candle light piles of sugar loaves in pyra- 
mids, bags of coffee, and rows of bottles in every 
shape could be seen. 

“Schnapps,” larconically observed the boy, point- 
ing out the inviting show to the sergeant. 

“Ja, ja!” replied the under officer, glaring at the 
heaps of delicacies as the Jews at the Egyptian 
fleshpots. 

“Here is the way to manage it, venerable merch- 
ant,” said Cocagce, “serve up some strong drink to 
our military friends and they will wait very patiently 
till you come down.” 

“My brandy?” groaned Potard; “they will drink 
every drop and pay me with an order on the king 
of Prussia’s treasury.” 

“You need not waste brandy on them; open a 
demijohn of something strong, and they won’t be 
dainty if it scratches their gullet.” 

Driven into his last ditch, influenced by the idea 

that he might charge this to the Panardel account 
16 


246 A POOR EXCUSE IS BETTER THAN NONE. 

the grocer yielded regretfully to let the soldiers into 
his store, where they did not require dragging. Se- 
duced like his subordinates the sergeant only took 
the precaution to lock the street door and pocket 
the key. When the escort were installed before a 
large bottle of alcohol, labeled as made in Cham- 
pagne, but having no affinity with the wine of that 
name, the drummer shouted gaily: 

“Up we go! May we be as jolly when we get 
through our private business.’' 

It was against his will that the trader led his 
forced guests through his house, and with a pain at 
the heart he preceded Panardel and the younger 
man on the stairs. At every step he turned to try to 
see how the soldiers were dealing with his goods. 
The drummer laughed up his sleeve and amused 
himself by frightening him while pretending to 
cheer him up. 

“Don’t be uneasy, good M. Potard,’’ he said, “the 
Germans care for nothing but pork and spirits. You 
will lose nothing but half a dozen hams, and at the 
sixth or eighth bottle of home-made cognac they 
will be under the counter.” 

Potard replied with a groan to such ironical con- 
solation, but continued to ascend, heroically aban- 
doning the stores to the ogres. But he hesitated, 
more oppressed by an unknown woe than by the 
destruction of his delicatessen. This misery did not 
escape the wary eye of the drummer, who had not 
forgotten the illumination going outwhen the musket 
butt thumped the door, or the infinite care Potard 


A POOR EXCUSE IS BETTER THAN NONE. 247 

had shown in opening it. Evidently the house con- 
tained guests whom it was desirable to secrete, and 
this lent itself to the plotter’s designs too well for 
him not to seek the clue. 

Stopping on the first floor landing, Potard did 
not show any intention of going farther. With his 
frightened demeanor and the candle shaking in his 
hand, he looked the conspirator caught in the act. 

“How is this?” challenged the drummer with ef- 
frontery, “are you going to discuss matters with 
your chief correspondent’s son on the stairway?” 

“I am sorry, but, as I told you below, I have 
company, and — and I would like better to get over 
it here.” 

Agenor made a sour face, but he did not rebel 
like his companion, who said in a light way: 

“I would not go contrary to you for anything in 
the world, excellent M. Potard, but I always stutter 
when I talk standing, and if we stay jabbering here, 
those Prussians will swallow all the good things in 
stock.” 

This argument influenced the dealer. 

“We must step into the parlor, I see,” he said 
with celerity prompted by commercial reasons, “but 
the persons there are not known to you, and ” 

“We will make their acquaintance,” interrupted 
Cocagne, who shrank from nothing. 

The master of this inhospitable house passed on 
with a vexed face, opening a door and showing them 
into a sitting-room, badly lit by only one light. The 
drummer noticed that the shutters were closed and 


248 A POOR EXCUSE IS BETTER THAN NONE 

the curtains drawn together. Three persons, two 
women and a man, were seated near the fireplace on 
chairs upholstered in yellow velvet — a fashionable 
color. The grocer’s quiet entrance did not excite 
the least stir in the little party, but when the uni- 
forms of the cornet and the drummer appeared, all 
sprang to their feet with a quickness which much 
resembled fright. Panardel looked at the alarm with 
a dull eye, but Cocagne recognized the three. It was 
at the Countess de Muire’s residence that he had 
seen them when in attendance on the Russian prince, 
and while the ladies were the countess herself and 
her niece Cecile de Saintclair, he saw that the gen- 
tleman was an old fop who was called the Vidame 
de Branscourt. Vidames were the noblemen chosen 
of old to defend churchmen and their property. 

“Potard picks out lofty guests,” observed the 
boy, nudging Panardel. 

“The Countess de Muire!” exclaimed Panardel, 
no less astounded than his companion at seeking 
persons of quality under a tradesman’s roof. 

“Do you know me, monsieur?” haughtily de- 
manded the old lady, majestically advancing toward 
the speaker. 

“Yes, madame,” faltered the hussar; “I was 
presented to you a fortnight ago or so, by your rela- 
tive, my friend and brother-officer, Albert Boissier. 
I am Panardel — Agenor Panardel, as M. Potard will 
assure you.” 

“Ido not recall the name very clearly,” observed 


A POOR EXCUSE IS BETTER THAN NONE. 249 

the dame, who had no memory but for titles of 
nobility. 

*‘Nay, nay,’' interposed the old beau, to whom 
Agenor had paid some extravagant compliments, 
‘‘I remember the gentleman perfectly, and he is of 
the right way of thinking.” 

In his aristocratic mouth, this expression implied 
that Panardel was but a lukewarm patriot and it 
set the lady at ease. 

“Excuse my poor head,” said she in a less cut- 
ting tone, “and allow me to inquire to what happy 
event I owe the pleasure of again meeting you?” 

“Why, to tell the truth,” stammered the hussar, 
“I — I have been arrested, and want to speak to M. 
Potard— ” 

“Arrested? is the Usurper already at our gates?” 
asked the nobleman with disquiet. 

“The Usurper? he means the Little Corporal?” 
thought the drummer. “I think I have the grip 1 
want. These people wanted to keep out the police.” 

The fearless boy, who had hitherto kept behind 
his superior, strutted, gracefully into the middle of 
the parlor. 

“Asking your pardon, madame countess,” he 
began, stretching out his leg before him as he made 
a bow, like an officer doing the parade step. 

“Who are you, pray?” asked the countess dis- 
dainfully. 

“Auguste Cocagne, senior drummer of the Ninth 
Marching Regiment, at your ladyship’s service, if I 
can do anything for you!” returned he unabashed. 


250 A POOR EXCUSE IS BETTER THAN NONE. 


This announcement of the speaker's social position 
caused the countess to turn her back, and go and sit 
beside her charming niece who was looking on with 
startled eyes. 

“To put it in a nutshell, the case stands thus," 
said the boy. “We are all in custody — me, to begin 
with, and get me out of the way, as you do not care for 
me; the lieutenant here present, who has had the 
advantage to drag his sabertasche about your carpet 
heretofore; and your kinsman. Cornet Albert Boissier 
of the Seventh Dragoons. We come to M. Potard 
to have him get us off, but since your ladyship is here, 
you should have the office by virtue of your rank." 

“Arrested — by whom? my relative, alas!" 

“Oh, only by the Prussian’ patrol; but as I saw 
that you greeted all the Allied generals in your 
house, we shall be let off at once, if you will say a 
couple of words to the governor, and I am sure that 
Cornet Boissier will lose no time to present his 
thanks to you and to the young lady over there." 

“I do not know that I can act thus," said the lady, 
visibly embarrassed; “my intervention might go for 
little at such a time, and again — " 

“What's the hindrance? because our boys are 
marching upon Troyes and the sourkrout-eaters will 
be marching out? All the stronger reason, my 
lady; the fat major will think more about packing 
up to decamp than of detaining us, and this does 
not include that my cornet might not be a bad card 
in your hand if the Emperor pops into this place 
to-morrow." 


V 


A POOR EXCUSE IS BETTER THAN NONE. 25 1 

The sly boy had kept this argument for his final 
one, and he could soon judge of its effect on the 
lady. 

“ Hark ye ! ” said she abruptly, “ you seem a lad 
of good sense.’' 

“ I have been told so, my lady.” 

“I shall therefore speak frankly to you. My 
friends and I have good motives for not appearing 
in public while the Ogre — ahem ! Emperor stays in 
Troyes. That is the reason for our favoring this 
honest man with our company, he being one of my 
purveyors,” continued the countess, nodding to Po- 
tard. “ The Corsican’s soldiery may arrive this same 
night, and I do not desire to go out ; but I can 
write in favor of my relative’s son.” 

“ Excuse me, countess,” said Cocagne, pulling his 
forelock in perplexity ; “ but along with your kins- 
man is also my uncle and his daughter.” 

“ What are you coming to,” said the dame haught- 
ily, who began to suspect some hoax, “ what is there 
in common between M. Boissier, the banker’s 
nephew, and your family? ” 

Cocagne was going to make some kind of an 
answer, when a violent knocking came at the grocery 
door. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


PRISONERS IN A NEW LIGHT. 

At this noise the guests of the grocer stared at 
one another in amaze. Each had reasons to fear an 
unforeseen event. The countess and the noble 
dreaded the entry of the French forces. Potard 
trembled for his merchandise and Panardel for his 
precious person. In spite of the large dose of confi- 
dence with which Cocagne was endowed, he did not 
feel assured. 

The stranger who knocked so imperiously might 
be a foe — whether he came from the major to ask 
for his prisoners to return, or a mere visitor. Hence 
everybody listened, and none hastened to open the 
door. 

The hammering came again with double energy. 
At each blow, shaking the door, the master of the 
house shuddered, like nervous women when a pistol 
is let off in a playhouse. 

“ Go and see who that is,’' said Madame de Muire, 
who felt it beneath her dignity to show any more 
fear. 

The errand did not please the storekeeper, who 
seemed riveted to the spot. 

But, my lady,” faltered he, “ would it not be 
better to lead them to think that nobody is at home? 
The windows are closed, no light can be seen from 
without and if we are not heard in the street — ” 

252 




PRISONERS IN A NEW LIGHT. 253 

How about our Prussians in your store?'' inter- 
rupted the boy; ‘‘do you think they will not be 
heard in the street ? If they had their quaiitum I 
should say nothing, but if they are not full, they will 
be making enough noise to attract all the patrols in 
the town to your door. Hark, how quiet they are!” 

Indeed, a formidable racket of smashed bottles 
arose from the store with a chorus of merry vocifer- 
ations, as a protest against the grocer’s ideas of quiet. 

The tradesman lifted his hands in token of de- 
spair and rushed out upon the stairs. His interest in 
his stock overpowered his fear. 

In fact, the riot among the revelers had been 
heard in the street, for the knocking became a con- 
tinuous roll. The caller, whoever he was, had made 
up his mind not to go away, and the door would 
have to be opened. The guests held their peace in 
the parlor to listen, and the countess did not think 
to inquire the end of Cocagne’s revelations. 

Soon the sound of an irritated voice arose, min- 
gled with Potard's infinitely more gentle accents. 
It was no puzzle to see that the stranger, on being 
admitted, was abusive for having been so long kept 
waiting. To this colloquy succeeded another in 
German with the sergeant, the imperious tone of the 
newcomer clearly indicating that he held a rather 
high rank in the army. 

“Can it be the fat major who has finished his pipe 
and is coming after us?” mused Cocagne; but on 
second thoughts he said between his teeth: “How 
foolish I am — he does not know the way. Deuce 


254 


PRISONERS IN A NEW LIGHT. 


take me if I can guess who is the individual who 
comes to disturb us/' 

They heard steps rapidly coming up the stairs, 
and soon spurred boot-heels rang in the ante-room. 
The door flew abruptly open, and a man in scarlet 
uniform strode in. 

‘‘May I die a dog’s death if I am not out of luck!” 
muttered the drummer, who had prudently stepped 
aside; “it is the Red Hussar.” 

The tall, fair-faced hussar, who had abducted 
Therese, was now bowing to the countess, who had 
recovered self-possession. 

“In heaven’s name — what is going on? Has the 
Usurper already occupied the town?” she asked. 

“Not yet, lady,” replied the Austrian, “but our 
troops have been retiring since this morning, and 
the enemy’s vanguard may be before these gates be- 
fore daybreak. Your servants informed me that you 
had taken refuge here, and I come from my general 
to tell you that he is obliged to quit your mansion 
this night, and also to complain of how things are 
going on there.” 

“And pray, what is going on, monsieur?” said the 
lady, dryly, for her sympathy with the Allies would 
not support this man’s saucy tone. 

“One of your servants has dared to go into his 
private suite and assist in the escape of a girl whom 
the general’s wife had chosen, at some expense, for 
her maid, and I bear the order to bring this person 
back by force if I must, should she be here.” 

“I am not aware of being charged with the keep 


PRISONERS IN A NEW LIGHT. 


255 


of my guests’ waiting-maids/’ retorted the lady, los- 
ing all patience, '‘and I point out to you that your 
action is most impertinent.” 

“Perfectly so, perfectly,” interposed the old beau, 
feeling obliged to support his noble friend; “and I 
assert upon my honor that no French gentleman 
would accept such an errand.” 

“Do you mean to insult me?” exclaimed the 
hussar, red as his jacket with rage. 

“Take it as you please,” returned the old dandy, 
assuming a lofty attitude, with his hand on his hip; 
“I am quite ready to give you satisfaction. Captain 
— Minden, I believe?” 

“The Emperor of Austria does not allow his 
officers to lose their time fighting in single combat 
during a campaign,” said the cavalrist, who had 
passed from red to pale green; “but I am as nobly 
born as you, and when we shall have taken Paris, I 
will come back to meet you.” 

“Faugh! I daresay your ancestors were catch- 
ing wild horses in the Brandenburg marshes, while 
mine were hewing down the heathen in the crusades,” 
replied the proud old noble; “but, let that pass, you 
wear a sword, and I shall be ready for you whenever 
you like.” 

The countess thought this a meet opportunity 
for her to put an end to this exchange of amenities. 

“Captain,” she said, with cold dignity to the 
intruder, “I have had to remind you that you were 
addressing a lady of quality; but from consideration 
for the sovereign you serve, I will inform you that 


256 


PRISONERS IN A NEW LIGHT. 


you labor under an error. I am sure of my house- 
hold, and none of them would do anything against 
a guest.'' 

“This was a sort of page who was seen to climb 
your garden wall by the help of ladders." 

“I have not a young man in all my service!’’ 
interrupted the offended lady. 

“I am afraid you are forgetting me," interrupted 
Cocagne, suddenly quitting the corner where he had 
remained unnoticed, and exposing his tattered attire 
to the rays of the dim lamp. 

This abrupt appearance had a theatrical effect. 

“What does this malapert want?" exclaimed the 
hussar, who had not had time to recognize the 
youthful warrior of Eclaron Farm. 

“Good evening, officer — have you been burning 
any more farmhouses?" impudently demanded the 
boy. “You don't remember me? yet no great time 
has elapsed since you wanted to shoot me in Soul- 
aines wood." 

“The scamp who tried to run away with our 
calash!" roared the hussar in furious. “It is you, 
then, who helped this girl to escape?" he added, 
stepping forward to collar the boy. 

“Hold on, captain," returned the latter, eluding 
him; “you ought to know that I am not so easily 
caught as all that. Oh, you came and stole my 
cousin Therese to titivate up your hawk-nosed 
general’s wife, and thought we would let you do it? 
Not a bit of it, my beanpole in a red rag — I let her 
loose out of the cage, and before you lay hold of 


PRISONERS IN A NEW LIGHT. 


257 


her again, the boys will be swarming into Troyes 
and you will be flying for your life without waiting 
for your change.” 

“You see, countess, that I was not wrong;” coolly 
said the Red Hussar; “the rascal actually boasts of 
his deed, and I find him beside you in this parlor. 
You must own that it is very odd, anyway.” 

The stupefied countess could find no answer. 
The other bystanders could not understand any 
better the queer imbroglio of which Cocagne held 
held the key. But after having poured invectives 
on the enemy, the boy wrapped himself in silence, 
folding his arms with supreme indifference. 

Greatly alarmed about the sequel to this mishap, 
Panardel pulled the boy’s sleeve without drawing 
any relief from him. 

“I have no more to do here,” said the hussar 
with constrained choler, “and you will please let me 
withdraw, countess, with my excuse for depriving 
you of a faithful servant. As for you, knave, follow 
me to a place where there are people who know 
how to make birds sing that won’t sing.” 

“They will fail with me, officer, for I have lost 
my voice,” replied Cocagne quietly. 

“Wait a bit, you saucebox!” roared the Austrian, 
rushing out of the room. 

“A pleasant journey! don’t hurry yourself!*’ 
shouted the boy, while the long-legged cavalier was 
going down the stairs four at a time. 

“Why, you must be crazy,” moaned Panardel. 
“He has gone for the soldiers in the store who will 


258 PRISONERS IN A NEW LIGHT. 

haul US back before the governor, and we are 
ruined.” 

“Those men? get along with you ! they have 
tucked in five bottles each and they will be sleeping 
under the counter. All my hope is that the fat 
major has not smoked his pipe,” he said less uncon- 
cernedly. “However, we have only to listen at the 
top of the stairs to learn what is going on in this 
respectable establishment.” 

He left the parlor without remembering to salute 
the ladies. The grocer, still trembling for his mer- 
chandise, and Panardel, who was nearly out of his 
senses, mechanically followed him out upon the land- 
ing. From this post of observation they did not lose a 
note. Already was rising the uproar of varied oaths 
which the Red Hussar cast on the Prussian war- 
' riers, but no voice responded to him. Only at in- 
tervals when he paused to take breath did the drone 
of a snore sonorously fill up the gap. 

“I wager that it is the sergeant’s proboscis that 
makes that melody,” muttered Cocagne. “When a 
man has his fill of schnapps he always plays the organ 
in that style.” 

Another and a sharper noise burst from time to 
time in the store, and drew mournful exclamations 
frorn the good Potard; it was the crash of broken 
glass, and the boy with his wit as fine as his hear- 
ing, immediately found the elucidation. 

“The officer is trying to set them on their pins, 
but they slip through his hands and go — slap ! on 
the broken bottles again. He will have to give that 


PRISONERS IN A NEW LIGHT. 


259 


up as a bad job, and come and have it out with us 
single-handed. That gives me an idea howto fix 
him; and if you will lend me a hand, we might bind 
him hand and foot and bundle him into the cellar, 
while we cut back to the Commandant and release 
our friends.” 

“You are mad,"' returned the grocer, “did you 
not see he has a sword?” 

“A saber, you should say; tush! I have met tooth- 
picks before, in my time. I undertake to disarm 
him; but come along, valorous and well-to-do Po- 
tard!” 

The grocer showed undoubted terror and seemed 
no way disposed to co-operate in the youth’s war- 
like plans. Before he could open his mouth to 
shape his objections, the Austrian officer darted out 
of the store holding in hand an object not clearly 
defined. 

“Look out!” cried Cocagne, drawing back quick- 
ly: “he’s drawn a pistol, but as he comes up to shoot 
at you, I will hide here on the stairs and grab him 
by the leg.” 

The ruse might have succeeded, spite of the cow- 
ardice of the two, but the hussar’s unexpected move- 
ment upset the stratagem. He strode straight to 
the street door, unlocked it and went out, slammed 
it shut, locked it double — and his spurs jingled on 
the pavement as he rapidly departed. All that was 
audible was the snoring. 

“Idiot that I am!” groaned Cocagne, beating his 
breast: “I never thought of the door-key which that 


26 o 


PRISONERS IN A NEW LIGHT. 


thick headed sergeant put in his pocket. The 
officer came across it in feeling his coat and now we 
are locked in/' 

“You may as well say that we are utterly destroy- 
ed/' panted Panardel in a lamentable voice. 

“And through you, too," growled the grocer, sulk- 
ily, “you had no need to insult that officer." 

“Go calmly, Potard, go calmly, papa!" said the 
drummer, who set the example, for he re-entered 
into his usual coolness after the first surprise was 
passed. “Hang it all, you must have another key!" 

“I have a latch key, certainly, but it will not open 
the door when it is double-locked." 

“But the ground floor windows — they are not so 
small that only cats can go through?" 

“They are all barred," grumbled the tradesman; 
do you think that my store can be entered like a 
free and open church?" 

“Your bars were very useful to keep the Prussians 
from your brandy, eh?" 

“Because you cheated me into opening my door," 
almost screamed Potard at the acme of exasperation. 

“Amiable dealer in sandy sugar and chicory cof- 
fee, this is no moment for us to dispute," said the 
lad tranquilly. “Let us behave more wisely by 
returning to the parlor in order to set at ease that 
society which is its own best ornament, and by all 
six laying our heads together, we may scare up 
enough common sense to devise the means to foil 
the Red Hussar on his stork legs." 

Having nothing better to suggest, the two fol- 


PRISONERS IN A NEW LIGHT. 26l 

lowed the drummer with a sulky mien, to see him 
make his reappearance among the aristocrats with 
the deportment acquired from the late Camouffe, 
drum-major and master of the arts and graces. 
Engaged in an animated dialogue with the old beau, 
the countess did not, we fear, sufficiently appreciate 
Cocagne's courtesy. 

*‘What deplorable manners these Germans have,^* 
the old dame was saying; “really, I don’t know but 
what I prefer the soldiers of Buonaparte.” 

“My dear friend, I fear that you will have only 
too good an opportunity to make the comparison, 
as the mad Usurper may come this night. I 
thought I heard great guns out by the Paris gate.” 

“The bull dogs have been growling these ten 
minutes,” thus Cocagne joined the conversation; 
then,. drawing the curtains without waiting for per- 
mission and opening the window, he let in the dull 
rumble of a cannonade, passing over the town like 
the warning blast of a tempest. 

The streets were filled with confused shouts and 
bugle calls; artillery trains galloped by, smashing 
the stones under their heavy wheels. It was clear 
that an important action was going on at the town 
gates, and that the Allies, alarmed by a sudden attack, 
were concentrating to defend their headquarters. 

“Merciful powers, what will become of us!” mur- 
mured the countess’ young niece. 

“Fear nothing,” said the old noble; “if M. de 
Buonaparte should enter the place. Cornet Boissier 
will protect you.” 

17 


262 PRISO^NERS IN A NEW LIGHT. 

Mlle^ jde Saintclair said nothing, but she blushed, 
and Cocagne remarked the significant symptom. 

‘‘The mischief of it is,” put in the cunning youth, 
without betraying that he had heard this name, 
“that the countess' cousin is still in the grip of the 
Prussians; and I think we ought to be on the move 
if we are to get him out of the hole.” 

“But, my friend,” said Madame de Muire, “as 
this testimony comes on behalf of a soldier of the 
Usurper, will it be enough to secure my relative's 
liberation?” 

“I answer for that, and if the cornet is free I war- 
rant to boot that he will give a fine lift to his friends 
when the Little Corporal is here.” 

“We may very much need that, my fair friend,” 
said the beau in a whisper; “particularly myself, who 
has been flaunting the white cockade for this fort- 
night.” 

“Well, Potard, you had better go with this young 
g_g_man.'’ 

“But how?” sighed the distracted store-keeper; 
“we are locked in.” 

“Why, by the window, of course,” replied the 
drummer of the Ninth. 

“Never!” emphatically declared Potard; “twenty 
feet off the ground! I have no desire to break my 
leg. 

“Then I shall go alone,” said the boy, running to 
the window opened. 

“But,” remonstrated the prudent Agenor, “I can 
not go either. Besides, it will amount to nothing, 


PRISONERS IN A NEW LIGHT. 263 

for the governor will want to know what you have 
done with his sergeant and the file.’' 

“I will tell him that they were taken into the col- 
umn to be marched into the action, and it would be 
odd if he smelt a rat. Once, twice, will you come, 
lieutenant? No? Then, goodnight, ladies and 
gentlemen!” 

Without losing a second, the boy pulled down 
one of the canary colored curtains which were the 
pride of Potard’s parlor, twisted it into a rope of 
which he tied one end fast to the window bar, and 
slung himself astride of the ledge. 

^‘My curtains, my beautiful curtains, which I had 
from Paris!” wailed the grocer. 

“We shall soon meet again!” was the drummer’s 
farewell, as he slid down to the pavement. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


IT IS SOMETIMES GOOD TO HAVE A MASTER. 

Cocagne had the bump of locality. 

As soon as he reached the street, without acci- 
dent, he chose his course by the shortest line for the 
town hall. 

'‘Heaven only knows if I shall arrive in time,'’ he 
muttered, while stretching his legs. “The major’s 
pipe is a large one, but Potard was so long-winded, 
to say nothing about the*Hussar in his seven-leagued 
boots, who may get in before me. Pooh, I am not 
so long in the legs as he, but I go quicker, and I 
shall have time to tie the old fogey up in a knot of 
my own contrivance before that lengthy imbecile 
shows his long nose in the court room.” 

These reflections had some foundation in sense, 
and the boy in his easy apparel might have outraced 
the cavalryman in his tight clothes, but the former 
had reckoned without the state of the streets. The 
hasty movement of the garrison had filled the thor- ^ 
oughfares, ordinarily deserted at such a period. At 
every instant, Cocagne heard the patrol’s heavy 
and regular step, and he lost precious minutes in 
eluding the watch. This carried with it the conso- 
lation that it forebode the near arrival of the French. 
Under other circumstances, the boy need have done 
nothing but skulk in a corner until the army of de- 


IT IS SOMETIMES GOOD TO HAVE A MASTER. 265 

liverance marched in; but the brave drummer did 
not mean to leave his friends in custody. He had 
already invented a fresh yarn in which to entangle 
the governor, and he hoped to procure their liberty 
under cover of the disorder. 

But from having to dodge the Prussians, he was 
half-an-hour behindhand in reaching the town hall. 
When he stood before it all was dark, and the most 
complete silence reigned. He could enter at the 
main gateway without being challenged. The guard 
room was empty, and not a soldier was visible. He 
did not linger here to wait for a solution of the rid- 
dle. But, pushing on, he easily found the corridor 
leading to the court room. 

He ran up the passage and forthwith pushed 
open the door of the sanctuary of justice. A fresh 
surprise awaited him there; every living* thing had 
disappeared. The magistrate in epaulets, and those 
he had to try, all had vanished as by enchantment. 
The lamp still burning on the justice’s desk and an 
odor of tobacco alone lingered to attest that the 
drummer had not been dreaming. 

“By the sword of Mars,” muttered the drummer, 
“I have arrived too late. Such is the result of dally- 
ing with a grocer. But where the deuce could they 
have all gone to?” 

After having roamed about and ferreted in every 
corner without lighting on the slightest sign of those 
he sought for, the boy determined to go upon the next 
floor. Nothing was there but detached articles testi- 
fying to a precipitate removal; not one living being. 


266 IT IS SOMETIMES GOOD TO HAVE A MASTER. 

“Beyond a doubt, the fat major has evacuated 
the camp,” he said as sadly he took the stairway. 
“What a mistake to rely on the German’s devotion 
to smoking.” 

Suddenly the drummer, who was still listening,not- 
withstanding his rebuff, heard steps in the passage 
below. He began most softly to go down in order 
to examine the stranger unseen if he could. It took 
him only a few seconds to reach the bottom step. 
Here he hugged the wall and waited. 

The footsteps went away, and he heard a door 
open and shut almost instantly with violence. 

“This seems somebody with business for the gov- 
ernor,” he conjectured. 

He distinguished that the sound came from the 
courtroom, and he suspected that the late visitor 
was somehow mixed up with the events of this night. 
The steps drew nearer, loudly ringing on the lobby 
slabs. 

“He’s wearing spurs,” muttered the boy who well 
knew the metallic ring of a cavalryman’s tread. 
“Can it be Lieutenant Boissier?” 

Imbued with this gladdening and not improb- 
able idea, he decided to quit his post so as not to 
lose time, and to walk to meet the stranger. He 
had not gone half up the corridor before he keenly 
regretted he had so ventured. A lantern forgotten 
by the fugitives, illumined the passage. In its glare 
the two nocturnal promenaders met face to face. 

On the instant the drummer recognized the Red 
Hussar, and he wanted to take a retrograde step. It 


IT IS SOMETIMES GOOD TO HAVE A MASTER. 267 

was too late, for the Austrian had seen him. He 
drew his saber without hesitating and moved upon 
him. 

“At last I have you, miserable imp, '/ he said, 
grinding his teeth; “and this time you shall not 
escape me." 

“We shall see about that, you kidnapper!" retort- 
ed the drummer, making a face at the abductor of 
the farmer’s fair daughter. 

This taunt, accompanied by the grimace, struck 
home so truly that the hussar rushed upon the 
speaker with rage. The direct thrust he delivered 
would have nailed the boy to the wall if he had not 
stooped at the right moment, so that the steel shiv- 
ered up to the hilt against the stones. Meanwhile 
the agile youth, who had similarly evaded attacks 
of the municipal guards of Paris, glided between his 
legs and dashed at full speed out into the street. 

He kept on running straight before him; the 
valiant drummer did not try to select a route until 
he threw the pursuer off the track. The man-hunt 
began with the game having many chances in his 
favor, thanks to his start and the slenderness of his 
frame. But the hunter kept his distance if he did 
not gain, and, moreover, raised shouts for the soldiers 
to stay the fugitive as they wandered in the public 
ways. On all sides vociferations in German thun- 
dered, and the likelihood was that the boy would be 
stopped. 

“If I let them catch me, I am done for," he 
thought as he meditated some new device. 


268 IT IS SOMETIMES GOOD TO HAVE A MASTER. 

Bayonets began to glitter in front, and he threw 
himself swiftly into a cross street, but at its end he 
spied a troop of cavalry. The hurried steps of the 
hussar approached. 

“The game is played,'' said Cocagne, philosophi- 
cally; ‘T am trapped like a fox in his lair. In ten 
minutes they will shoot me, with my back to that 
wall." 

But the next instant he just restrained a whoop of 
joy. 

“Talk about luck; I am in the thick of it." 

Chance does things nicely sometimes. It had 
guided his steps to the very street where he lived 
under the patronage of Prince Zodreff, and it was 
before his residence, that he stopped, although he 
had to confess he had run at random. The win- 
dows were brilliantly lit up. Perplexity and the 
rapidity of the race had prevented him recognizing 
landmarks on a road that ought to be familiar to 
him. 

“If my Russ has got home safe from the fight, I 
am safe," he thought as he darted into the doorway, 
where the doors were not fastened by a continuance 
of his furtune. 

Up to the next floor he climbed. He opened a 
door without any ceremony and tumbled into a 
vast hall where the prince, seated in an easy chair, 
was sipping cumin-brandy in a large glass, while 
two soldiers were hastily packing up wearing apparel. 

“Oh, is it you, little drummer,” queried Zodreff 
tranquilly; “glad to see you; your frantic country- 



IT IS SOMETIMES GOOD TO HAVE A MASTER. 269 

men have been besieging me with their confounded 
incessant firing, and I am getting tired of it.” 

‘‘Phew!” sighed the lad, dropping into a chair. 
“Greeting to you, my prince, but I am afraid that I 
have not much of a heart to liven your highness.” 

“Why not, what is the matter, little drummer?” 
inquired the boyar, drinking. 

“Ask this flamingo,” replied Cocagne, as the Red 
Hussar bounded into the room. 

With his eyes protruding out of his head aiftl his 
face flaming, the persecutor of the drummer furi- 
ously brandished the fragment of his blade. 

“What is this to signify, monsieur, and why^ do 
you take the liberty to enter my presence in this 
fashion?” challenged the Muscovite, rising quickly. 

Minden wanted to reply in his own language, but 
the prince cut him short. 

“Speak French, monsieur, it distracts me,” he 
suggested in the tone which converted it into an 
order. 

“Well, your highness, I come to punish this little 
limb of Satan as he deserves,” responded the Aus- 
trian, conforming to the advice. 

“This servant of mine? Do you deserve punish- 
ment, boy?” inquired the prince unconcernedly. 

“Never!” was Cocagne’s reply; “it is just the 
other way about; for he deserves hanging rather 
than the twelve bullets of a firing party, as I will 
prove if allowed.” 

“I am afraid you will have to prove that, little 
drummer,” observed the Russ, resuming his seat. 


270 IT IS SOMETIMES GOOD TO HAVE A MASTER. 

“What, would your highness let me be insulted 
bythat scapegrace accusing me inyourpresence?’' re- 
monstrated the hussar in a voice tremulous with rage. 

“It seems to me that you are shifting places,” 
said Zodreff, without being daunted by the intruder’s 
swagger. “You rush in here to claim with violence a 
soldier who is under my safeguard, and you talk 
about shooting or flogging him. The man defends 
himself, which meseems is quite natural, and I am 
b^nt 8pon hearing his reasons before surrendering 
him.” 

“In this case, allow me to withdraw to report to 
my general what took place here.” 

“Do as you please; I account to nobody but my 
sovereign the Czar, and take no orders save from 
him.” 

The hussar saluted stiffly and took a step 
toward the door. 

“Good speed, officer!” called out Cocagne with a 
droll grimace. 

The cavalier passed him with a furious glance. 

“Carry my compliments to the general’s lady,” 
went on the irrepressible joker; “if she should be 
dying for news of her first lover, the student Her- 
mann von Finkinstein, I know somebody who can 
gratify her.” 

This phrase, dropped at random, had effect on 
both the principal hearers, but it was on the officer 
like a lightning-stroke; he was no longer pale but 
corpsedike; he reeled on his long legs and had to 
grasp the door-jamb not to fall. 


IT IS SOMETIMES GOOD TO HAVE A MASTER. 2J\ 

“How now! do you not believe at present, my 
prince, that I have found the skeleton in the closet, 
and that I know a good deal about the gentleman?” 
rattled on Cocagne with a triumphant wink. 

“This is a lie!” stammered the hussar. 

“What? I never said anything!” chuckled the 
boy; “it is rather too soon to turn green as a lizard 
before I say a single word of my little novelette.” 

“I am bound to say,” said the Russian, observing 
the scene with sarcastic curiosity, “that by merely 
watching you, one is tempted to believe you are 
guilty of some atrocity.” 

But the hussar had managed to recover some 
self-possession. He returned to the middle of the 
room and stared the denouncer in the face without 
brow-beating him. 

“Your highness should grant,” he said with as- 
sumed disdain, “that it requires an effort to remain 
calm when one hears such insolence from a malapert 
boy, but since you deem the nonsense worth taking 
seriously, I stay for him to explain. I demand 
that.” 

“Come, speak little drummer, since the gentle- 
man really wants to hear what you have to tell us,” 
commanded the prince, with somewhat less inatten- 
tion. “And if that be no inducement, I may add 
that it will singularly interest me.” He sat up, like 
a magistrate, in his chair. 

“I obey your orders, my lord,” replied the boy, 
“and it will not take long, for I have the matter by 
heart. To begin with, there lived once in Germany 


272 IT IS SOMETIMES GOOD TO HAVE A MASTER. 

a student by the name of Hermann von Finkinstein, 
and a pretty girl named Wilhelmina. I remember 
these names because of the oddity.” 

The hussar could not conceal a shudder which 
the improvised judge remarked.* 

“This commences like the fairy tales, but it does 
not end like them,” went on the boy; “for, instead 
of getting married and living happily ever after- 
ward, the two sweethearts agreed to part, and each 
go his own way. Hermann became a soldier, and 
Wilhelmina also went for a soldier — I ought to say, 
an officer, for she captured and wedded a general. 
Naturally, the husband had an aide-de-camp who 
obeyed the lady in all things as faithfully as the 
general, or a shade more so — he is not particular to 
a shade. One day, or night, for it was going on 
seven p. m., the lady told the aide, who answers to 
the name of Otto Minden, that she was tired of her 
first lover. You can easily understand that it is a 
first-class thorn in the side of a woman who has 
jilted a man, to see the military service place him 
at her own door as sentinel? a rejected swain within 
range of the loaded gun in his hand — ugh! I sym- 
pathize with her in her cold shivers. Thereupon, 
the aide, who can not refuse that lady anything, 
walks the private out into the woods and fires a 
pistol ball into him at point blank.” 

“You lie — you lie!” roared the hussar, foaming 
with ire. 

“ The prisoner at the bar must not insult the wit- 
ness on the stand!” replied Cocagne, with the pon- 


IT IS SOMETIMES GOOD TO HAVE A MASTER. 273 

derous accent of an offended court usher. “ It ap- 
pears that this sort of thing may go on in a Prussian 
camp. - The sure thing is,” went on the lad without 
any emotion, that the officer walked back into 
camp all alone with the story to tell at the bivouac 
that the private had been bowled over by a stray 
French picket’s bullet. The general and his wife 
did not ask for further particulars; the story of the 
dead Hermann passed like a feather down the wind, 
and for the time it really seemed that the drummer 
Auguste Cocagne was the sole one who carried the 
key to Bluebeard’s cupboard. Now, your highness 
has it,” concluded the boy, making the military sa- 
lute to the prince. 

The accused ground his teeth, and made a strong 
effort to speak, but the words seemed to stick in his 
throat. 

“ I believe your name is Otto Minden?” ques- 
tioned the Russ, after a pause. 

“ That is indeed my name,” replied the officer; 
‘‘and really it is I at whom this little fiend dares to 
cast a crime from which I blush to justify myself.” 

“ You will look the better for blushing, for your 
usual complexion is ashen grey,” interpolated Co- 
cagne. 

“ The occurrence which serves as pretext for an 
absurd slander, has been placed in the military rec- 
ords,” replied the cavalry officer, master anew of 
himself; “ and I shall not stoop to ask this fellow for 
proofs, although — ” 

“Hold on: I have some proofs, and a witness 


274 IT IS SOMETIMES GOOD TO HAVE A MASTER. 

into the bargain.” said the drummer; “ it is an ofh- 
cer of our dragoon, Cornet Boissier.” 

“ That is not true! no French officer was in Sou- 
laines wood,” ejaculated the hussar, carried out of 
his prudence by his irritation. 

“ Who can tell, though that might not be down 
in your military daybook,” mockingly saidCocagne, 
“ would you like him to be sent for?” 

“That reminds me, where is my dear Albert?” 
asked Prince Zodreff. 

“ The governor of the town has him in his keep- 
ing, along with my cousin.” 

“What cousin, little drummer?” 

“ A pretty girl whom you may have seen along- 
side Mdlle de Saintclair and the countess in the 
party the other night. The cornet told you her name 
was Therese Lecomte; Lecomte is my uncle.” 

“ Stop! I remember as a foil to the fair Cecile — 
a fine, dark girl, who resembles a golden-bronze 
statue of Liberty?” 

“ Never having seen the goddess mentioned, I 
cannot swear to that, but I dare say that’s the one. 
This gentleman in red also thought the girl to his 
fancy or rather the general’s wife, for he stole her 
away from her father’s house, which, to prevent her 
feeling homesickness, be burnt over our heads. It 
pleases the dear Wilhelmina to keep her in her serv- 
ice as she likes French waiting-maids.” 

The prince finished his kummel and appeared to 
reflect. The hussar darted spiteful glances at the 
accuser. 


'V 


IT IS SOMETIMES GOOD TO HAVE A MASTER. 275 

“ Captain Minden/' said Boris at last, in the 
first place I am going to keep this little drummer as 
a witness in case you persist in your reprisal upon 
him for his denunciation. This latter case must be 
laid before the authorities when the war is over, and 
you may depend that I shall not let it drop as I recall 
that I am in a measure allied to the family of Fink- 
instein. At present, if you wish your reparation to 
be taken into consideration, bring me the dragoon 
cornet and this peasant girl pressed into service as 
an Abigail. I await your reply, M. Minden.” 

•T yield, my lord, since I see you are under an 
impression which I trust to dispel in time. Mean- 
while,’^ continued the hussar, with a great change 
of tone, ^T should be sorry to deprive your highness 
of his buffoon. As for the French officer whom you 
desire me to find, I can only promise ” 

‘‘Find him, sir!” interrupted the prince curtly; 
“his head may answer for yours. You have ample 
time, as our army does not leave the town until to- 
morrow' morning.” 

“I suggest that he is with the fat governor, you 
know,” said Cocagne, obligingly. 

“I shall endeavor to carry out your highness’ 
wishes,” returned the officer, apparently as obsequi- 
ous now as he had been overbearing. 

He went out with a very low bow. 

“Faugh! what a dreadful blackguard! ’ said the 
Russ, when alone with the boy. 

“I have never seen many of his sort,” said the 
latter, quietly; “but if he will return me my cornet. 


276 IT IS SOMETIMES GOOD TO HAVE A MASTER. 

my uncle and Therese, he may go and get hanged 
where he likes, for I shall not detain him.” 

“If ever he steps on Russian territory,” remarked 
the prince, “I will call him to account for murdering 
my distant relative; and, in fact, I do not know that 
the matter of the ground is of importance. It will 
be a pleasure to chastise him on any grounds.” 

Cocagne deigned to approve of the quip, like one 
who made them of good quality himself. 

An infernal uproar in the street broke in upon 
their laughter. There were shouts and shots, of 
which one shivered a looking-glass in the room and 
glanced about the room. 

“They are all going mad to-night; or is that a 
complimentary card from our scarlet officer?” said 
Cocagne, without wincing. “He might have collect- 
ed a file of Prussians or a squad of his horsemen to 
exterminate the witness to his crime.” 

The supposition had so much probability that 
the prince, shaking off his coldness, called for his 
sword. 

“What a nuisance it is that I cannot finish my 
liquor in peace,” sighed he. 

Hurried steps were heard on the stairs, and a 
man burst into the room. The door had knocked 
over Cocagne, who was going to see the reason for 
the tumult. But both he and the Russian drew back 
from an offensive attitude on recognizing Albert 
Boissier. He was pale and out of breath, with his 
clothes torn, his hair floating in the air and his sword 
unsheathed. With the yelling and the firearms 


IT IS SOMETIMES GOOD TO HAVE A MASTER. 2/7 


resounding in the street behind him, this unan- 
nounced entry had the appearance of a scene from 
a massacre such as Saint Bartholomew’s day. 

‘They are after me— help me to defend!” gasped 
he, setting his back to the door, turning to face the 
doorway. 

“Don’t be afraid, lieutenant, we are on hand,” 
said the little ^drummer, holding himself in the 
position of French wrestlers called the “low guard. “I 
did not know it was you and I was going to throw 
you, but I promise you that the first who bounces in 
here will go down from the gallery to the parquet 
without having to change his ticket.” 

“I am with you, dear Albert,” added the prince, 
tranquilly, as he came forward with .sword and pis- 
tol. 

The two soldiers who were packing up the furs 
and clothing, had stood up and took their muskets 
at a sign from the colonel, while the Cossack porter 
placed himself across the threshold, with the Rus- 
sian servant’s passive and devoted courage. 

The assailants mounted the stairs tumultuously 
and vociferated as they reached the landing, where, 
like a human cyclone, they almost threw down the 
son of the Don, who opposed his broad breast. 

“Stand back, Ivan,” said the prince, moving the 
giant aside with a wave of his white hand, and alone 
facing the intruders. He was clad in a splendid 
uniform, blazing with medals and stars, and they, 
and the bullion epaulets, had more effect than the 
Cossack’s colossal stature, Boissier’s saber, or Co- 
18 


278 IT IS SOMETIMES GOOD TO HAVE A MASTER. 

cagne’s secret wrestling trick. The hurricane 
stopped, wavered, recoiled and finally retreated 
down stairs. To complete the rout, the prince did 
not disdain to hurl some rebukes at them, with such 
energetic gestures that the stairs were soon clear of 
the brawlers. 

“Close the door, little drummer,” said Boris; “if 
they annoy us again, Ivan shall pitchfork them out 
of doors with his lance. And now, dear fellow, sit 
down, calm yourself and relate something of this 
scene from the Sicilian Vespers. Upon my word, 
you reminded me just now of our Czar Peter, pur- 
sued by the Strelitz.” 

“It would take too long, and time is precious,” 
said the cornet, as agitated as the host was calm. 
“As briefly as I can put it, I have narrowly escaped 
those straggling soldiers, whom a scoundrel gathered 
to set upon me, and I beg your protection, not so 
much for myself, as for a French girl, whom these vil- 
lains abducted and wish to regain the possession of.” 

“I guess — the one who looks like a statue of Lib- 
erty,” said Zodreff, who added, because his hearer 
did not appear to understand: “Ay, the magnificent 
brunette, who struck me, at the Countess de Muire’s, 
as a Greek image among the curiosities of a classical 
collector. I know the whole story, as the little 
drummer narrated it to me, the lovely goddess being 
his cousin. My sincere compliments to you — she 
was a delicious foil to Cecile de Saintclair, and you 
may rely on me to help you release your fellow- 
countrywoman from their claws.” 


IT IS SOMETIMES GOOD TO HAVE A MASTER. 279 

'‘Prince/’ remonstrated the lover, shocked by the 
somewhat light tone, “I vow that the girl interests 
me solely for her misfortunes — I have scarcely spoken 
to her twice, and — ” 

“Much may be said in two interviews between 
young and ardent spirits. I have only seen Mile, 
de Saintclair a couple of times, but the heart of your 
friend is already hers. But, without saying any- 
thing of the good turn you can do me with regard 
to the young lady, who is your kinswoman — what 
can I do for you and the beautiful brunette?” 

“Things stand thus, prince,” went on Boissier, 
who had recovered the mastery of his emotion. The 
French vanguard is under Troyes, and your army 
has already begun the evacuation.” 

“That is no news,” returned the Russ, “for the 
wild fellows killed my best charger this evening, and 
you see that I am packing my trunks to depart.” 

“Therese, I mean Cocagne’s cousin, is a prisoner,” 
continued Boissier, flushing on the cheeks. “I have 
helped to deliver her, but she is still wdthin the 
walls here, while the scoundrel who parted us may 
again assail her.” 

“Do you allude to the tow-headed hussar in scar- 
let, the assassin of Von Finkinstein?” 

“Do you know him?” 

“I am bound to do so, as your Hermann is a con- 
nection of my family. As for Captain Minden, he 
was leaving here when he must have come in con- 
tact with you in the street.” 

“But who could have told you — ” 


28 o it is sometimes good to have a master. 

“The little drummer — the little drummer who is 
at the bottom of all the mischief going on. This boy 
is a treasure/’ added the boyar, laughing heartily, 
while Cocagne modestly smiled. 

“Well, if you know what the villain is, you will 
judge what he is apt to do,” resumed Albert hotly. 

“Entirely; and I regret that I let him go when I 
might have executed him. I had but to nod to Ivan 
and he would have delighted to show him how far a 
Cossack lance can go at one thrust.” 

“That is not how the villain should die,” inter- 
posed Boissier, “and I have vowed to pursue him 
until he receives his due punishment. That is why 
I am here to ask you to take me with you.” 

The prince had suddenly become serious and he 
meditated. 

“My dear Albert,” he said after some silence, “I 
should feel the greatest pleasure in finishing the 
campaign in your company, and when peace is pro- 
claimed, I expect to have the joy of your society on 
my estates in Orenberg; but at present we are both 
soldiers, and I am too fond of you to want to thwart 
your career.” 

“But I am a prisoner of war,” observed the dra- 
goon. 

“You know better,” said the Russ, gently. “You 
must not forget that I explained your situation to 
the Czar, and our Alexander Paulovitz decided that 
the French officer who saved the life of his aid, 
Boris Zodreff, was free. You remained here because 
you do not know where to join your corps — perhaps, 


IT IS SOMETIMES GOOD TO HAVE A MASTER. 28 1 


I beg to believe, on account of the attractions of 
this Mdlle. Therese, much the same as I have dallied 
in the town comprising Mdlle. de Saintclair, between 
ourselves.” 

Boissier felt how right the speaker was, and he 
bowed without replying. The silence grew embar- 
rassing, when Cocagne struck in with remarkable 
appositeness. 

‘T hope the company will excuse me,” said he, 
making a leg in old-fashioned courtesy, “but I am 
thinking that I see how to fix things.” 

“Listen to the little drummer,” said Zodreff; 
“out of the mouths of babes cometh truth.” 

“To my mind, here is the right way of it,” con- 
tinued the lad. “It worries the lieutenant to leave 
my cousin Therese and my good uncle Jacques in 
the grip of the Germans, to say nothing of the Red 
Hussar likely to escape the gallows, while the other 
ladies, in whose society I had the honor to pass 
some time this evening, are likely to be ruffled if the 
boys get into the town pretty soon. On the other 
hand, the Little Corporal never jokes, and Captain 
Champoreau is no more tender in discipline; they 
will both want to know what kept an officer of the 
Seventh Dragoons from his post, and there will be 
trouble after the campaign. But there is to the front 
one insignificant lump of mortality, known as 
Auguste Cocagne, who does not bear a rank, and 
his absence will not be mourned anywhere unless in 
the Ninth Foot. Now, the aforesaid Auguste charges 
himself with looking after his kinsfolk, and working 


I 


282 IT IS SOMETIMES GOOD TO HAVE A MASTER. 

the oracle to say a good word for the old frump and 
her blue-eyed beauty of a niece, while he also keeps 
an eye on the Red Hussar — without including that he 
hopes to amuse the prince in the meanwhile.” 

“Bravo, little drummer, bravo!” exclaimed the 
prince, delighted by at least two items in the pro- 
gram. 

“Up to the coming into town of the boys, the 
prince and I will shield you all, including your 
brother officer Panardel, who is at present in the 
House of one Potard,a grocer in the Bishop’s Square, 
with the ladies aforementioned. To-morrow they 
will all be hauled up before our Provost Marshal, 
with their cavalier, an old foppish nobleman.” 

“He is sound on the question,” said the prince; 
“neither I nor Mdlle. de Saintclair will pardon you 
if you abandon her to the vengeance of the Bona- 
partists.” ' 

“I will stay and guard the ladies,” said Boissier in 
a tone of resignation contrasting with the Russian’s 
merry air. 

“That is very fine of you,” said the latter, heart- 
ily holding out his hand. “Now that you have 
decided on the proper thing, know that I have made 
up my mind to be the death of that horrid lath in 
scarlet, your rascally hussar, in exchange for which 
paltry service, do me the great one — promise that, 
when I am married and settled, we shall meet 
again — whether at Paris or St. Petersburg, little mat- 
ters? I own that I would rather the happy meeting 
should be in the Palais Royal galleries, but it looks 


I 


IT IS SOMETIMES GOOD^TO HAVE A MASTER. 283 

as though your army would prevent our getting 
there, and if we have to cross the Rhine, I want your 
pledge to come and see me on the banks of the Neva. 
Hang it all — we who gave your father hospitality, 
have some claim to be the host of his son. Need- 
less to say that this invitation includes the future 
Madame Boisser.” 

“I can hardly engage the lady, as I have not the 
assurance which you seem to possess as regards 
Mdlle. de Saintclair,” returned the cornet, with some 
lightness, “but here is my promise. My Paris ad- 
dress is at my uncle the banker’s, rue Mont Blanc.” 

“I will send Cocagne to you, if I do not bring 
him with me,” continued the prince smiling. “Now 
it is time you went to your duty; if I am taken pris- 
oner, I can do little for your goddess of Liberty. 
May we meet soon again, and do not forget that I 
have your promise.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE CANTINEER OF THE IRREGULARS. 

Two days following, the streets of Troyes had 
changed in aspect. The soldiers of the Coalition 
were displaced by the native forces, and at every 
corner were the conscripts, the townsfolk and the 
peasants, who had taken up their old fowling pieces 
and set scythe-blades on poles to have a blow at the 
invac^ers; these, perhaps displayed most courage of 
all as they were shot when taken, without delay, as 
they were considered mere marauders by the foreign 
armies. 

All wore a gala air, and on the promenade illu- 
mined by a clear winter’s sunshine, the citizens 
stared curiously at the warworn coats yet to be sung i 
by Beranger. Above all the uniforms of the Old 
Guard attracted attention; but the Imperial body- 
guardsmen and the dragoons who had served in the 
Peninsula had their share in the applause. Not to 
be scorned was a regiment of woodsmen and farmers, 
men of size and tireless step, dressed with slight uni- 
formity, whom Lecomte had assembled; thanks to 
his popularity in Champagne, and whom the Em- 
peror, appreciating the services of his guide, had 
furnished with arms and appurtenances. The fair 
sex gave their votes to the stylish horsemen who 
wore so jauntily the laced and high colored coats 

284 


THE CANTINEER OF THE IRREGULARS. 285 

and brilliant accoutrements, while the knowing ones 
preferred the bronzed features and gaunt but mil- 
itary frames of the soldiery who had been fight- 
ing for the last seven years beyond the Pyrenees; 
it was these veterans, rather than the dandy caval- 
iers, who fraternized with the farmers, and they might 
be seen most often at the cafe tables together 
sharing the wine. 

Apart from the variegated mob, before a humble 
drinking-stand, with its table stood out at the end of 
the public walk, two officers were quietly discussing 
a bottle of brandy. Both wore the famous green 
coat of the dragoons lately in Spain, but they dif- 
fered markedly in age, bearing and grade. The thin 
epaulet of the cornet on the younger rubbed the 
heavy gold insignia of the elder, but the latter chat- 
ted with perfect equality with his inferior. The 
passers-by who might be astonished at such unusual 
familiarity among officers of unlike degree, would 
have been less affected if they had known the two 
dragoons’ previous relations. 

One was our old friend Champoreau, recently 
promoted to be colonel, and the brave soldier still 
preferred the company of his pupil Boissier to that 
of the old commanders of his regiment. Since the 
army occupied Troyes the two friends had not left 
one another, and the colonel on this day, retained 
by duty in the morning, had hastened to find his 
cornet at the tryst he had made. 

After the hurried departure of Prince Zodreff, 
Albert had not forgotten what he ought to do. 


286 THE CANTINEER OF THE IRREGULARS. 

Calling on the countess' in the morning, he was told 
that she and her niece had gone out without saying 
when their return might be. Inquiring quietly of 
people in the street, he learnt where Potard’s was 
located, and asked tidings of his relative there. 
The grocer swore by all that was holy that he was 
ignorant of the ladies’ whereabouts, from suspecting 
the officer or under some error, and Boissier was 
left to believe that they had left the town with the 
enemy. He was not sorry, as his own position was 
not strong enough for him to do much to protect 
the turncoats and royalists. Troyes had risen against 
the nobles who had left France when the great revo- 
lution deprived them of their estates, who had lived 
abroad during all the country’s troubles, but who 
now flocked back for a share in the spoils. The mob 
trampled the white cockade under foot after tearing 
it from the brow where it was still imprudently 
worn. The bearers of the royal emblem were now 
denounced and a military commission was con- 
voked. Albert shuddered to think that in a day it 
might send to execution those who had been his 
hosts, though he was an officer of the French army. 

On the other hand, his search for Therese had 
proved fruitless; some hinted that the Prussians had 
taken certain prisoners with them, in spite of their 
hate, and others suggested that she had gone with 
her father, who had returned to his village on a 
special mission from headquarters. 

‘‘We are not going to rust here,” observed Colonel 
Champoreau. “The orders are out for us to evacu- 


THE CANTINEER OF THE IRREGULARS. 287 


ate the town in a day or two— say the 26th of Feb- 
ruary— we are to cross the Aube at Arcis, and we 
may have another brush with the old boar Blucher 
m the Marne. It will please me, as my hand itches 
to swing the sword again/-' 

“I thought you had enough of it at Montereau, 
where you are said to have been busy,” said Boissier, 
unable to keep back a smile; “for friends have been 
telling me that you broke up three squares with our 
nrst squadron.’' 


“Oh, the boys behaved fairlv there,” replied the 
colonel, curling his moustache; “that made them re- 
member that I had been through nineteen campaigns 
and was wounded half-a-dozen times— and won me 
the colonelcy.” 

“To the applause of all the regiment.” 

I don t deny it; yet I would rather have waited 
another month for the honor rather than go through 
the hateful duty now imposed upon me. They had 
the silly notion to make me presiding officer of a 
military tribunal, and I have just come from lolling 
in an arm-chair to hear a pack of lawyers yelping.” 

Deserters, I suppose, of whom it was necessary 
to make an example?” hinted Boissier, with growing- 
emotion. ^ 

“Better than that— a man of title— a marquis, 
who had donned the white cockade, and besought 
the emperors and kings to come and swallow France. 
They chose me, an old soldier, to try these banished 
nobles. They must be out of their senses at head- 
quarters.” 


288 THE CANTINEER OF THE IRREGULARS. 

‘‘How did the case terminate?’' inquired Albert 
timidly. 

“How could it end but one way? Of course the 
noble was doomed to death; that is the regular 
penalty in the articles of war. The case was clear 
as spring-water, and the poor wearer of the whit^ 
cockade, who did not show the white feather, will 
be shot to-morrow. I have no weakness for these 
renegades, Albert, but it hurt me to deal out such 
judgment on an old silly in white hair and old-fash- 
ioned clothes.” 

“What was his name?” Boissier almost trembled 
as he put the question, but he breathed again when' 
Champoreau answered carelessly: “A Marquis de 
Gonault,” whom the youth did not remember as a 
guest at the Countess de Muire’s. 

Unfortunately the colonel almost instantly added: 
“The worst of it that I am not through yet, and I 
must carry on this butcher’s trade to-morrow. It 
appears that there is a quantity of these runagates 
here who welcomed the enemy. Denunciations of 
them shower down and I hear that a whole covey of 
them will be snared this very night, including a 
countess who was the maddest of the band against 
our side. If they bring women up before me, dash 
me if I will not get myself put on the sick-list and 
turn the ugly work over to another.” 

“But they may fail to arrest them,” said Boissier, 
“and as we shall be going presently — ” 

“By Jove! you are right, and I do not envy any- 
body who presides at the other hearings, for I have 


THE CANTINEER OF THE IRREGULARS. 289 

no inclination to play the magistrate. But, I say, 
boy, it s^eems to me that the ladies of Troyes have 
devilish good taste, for there is one hovering round 
us very persistently.” 

The day was drawing in, and the loungers were 
growing less in number. A woman in a somewhat 
novel attire which had a touch of masculinity about 
it, was certainly hanging round the end of the way, 
where the two officers were seated, and every time 
she passed, she slackened her steps as if to study 
them narrowly. This movement had been noticed 
by the cornet, but as his heart was fully monopolized, 
he hesitated to believe that he, rather than the new 
colonel, was the object. 

Judging by her step, the woman was young and 
certainly alert and graceful; her figure was con- 
cealed by her very long and full cloak, but in pass- 
ing another stroller, it had been drawn aside and 
showed a small waist in a leather belt with a metal 
clasp of military aspect. It was hard to get a good 
view of her face, as she kept toward the officers 
that side on which was slouched a round, dark green 
felt hat, with ribbons of the same color; this was 
worn over a lace cap with strings of a countrified 
pattern which Albert remembered as common in 
Champagne. At the hem of the mantle appeared a 
sort of loose pantaloon of red, with white gaiters 
and a neat boot. It seemed to him, too, when the 
cloak was drawn back, that he had a glimpse of a 
small brass-hooped cask, suspended at the side by a 
shoulder-belt of buff leather. In short, it was the 


290 THE CANTINEER OF THE IRREGULARS. 

equipment of a canteen woman, but none of these, 
usually old soldier’s widows, had this pretty and 
elegant air. The cockade was new to him, being a 
sort of rosette of blue edged with red, coquettishly 
relieving her jet black curls, and secured by a pin 
having the imperial bee for its head. 

“To my thinking, I had better leave you on 
sentry duty alone,” suggested Champoreau, laughing. 

“But I protest to you, colonel — ” 

“Never mind, my boy; that lightsome vivandiere 
does not want to talk nonsense with an iron-gray 
trooper like me; so I leave you to learn her errand, 
and I expect you about nine at the Military Cafe.” 

Without waiting for a reply, Champoreau arose 
and went away at a quick step. Scarcely had he 
turned the corner, before the unknown cantineer 
quickly came up to the cornet and in a moved voice, 
said: 

“Come!” 

The side face was still presented, which was 
screened by the hat, but he had recognized the 
voice, and while puzzled at the attire, he had no hes- 
itation in following her into the darkest and most 
deserted part of the lounging ground. The long 
alley of young elms ended here at an iron openwork 
gate seldom used. The strollers preferred the side 
toward the town and this led to a poor suburb. 
But the guide proceeded into a street bordered by 
low, small buildings, and utterly without lamps. 

Soon the miserable street took a turn, and at the 
elbow was a place propitious for a conference. In 



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THE CANTINEER OF THE IRREGULARS. 2gi 

the corner of a house at the angle was hollowed out 
a niche in which was stood a statue of the Madonna, 
while following a custom borrowed from southern 
countries, a lamp had been placed at the feet of the 
image. Its light was some compensation for the 
total absence of any from the street lamps. The 
pilot stopped in its full glare, and ^ he had any 
doubts, they would have been dispelfed by this act- 
ion, altogether opposed to the proceeding of evil 
doers. He stepped forward with no farther hesita- 
tion. 

“Therese!” he exclaimed, as the face was pre- 
sented to view on the side uncovered by the hat, 
and he hastened to repair the outcry of such little 
respect by adding: “Mdlle. Lecomte — here — thus 
attired?” 

“Yes, it is I,” muttered the girl, more tremu- 
lously that one of her robust frame had need to speak. 
“What I have had to do should denote that it is an 
affair of life or death.” 

“Your father?” 

“No, my father is alive and well, and now closet- 
ed with the Emperor to have special instructions for 
the regiment he has raised of irregulars, who are, 
with Hfe in their hand, to harass the invader as only 
the country- bred can do. I march with them,” she 
said with more pride than confusion, “with my 
neighbors and kinsfolk; none would stay at home 
when they heard that I was going with my father. 
But I must not say more about us. Our peril is in 
the partisan strife, and not immediate. I come to 


292 THE CANTINEER OF THE IRREGULARS. 

plead the cause of those whom only you can save, 
as you saved my father and cousin.” 

“I cannot think to whom you allude, but speak, 
mademoiselle.” 

“When I was kept in the service of that German 
lady, the first kind words that I met were at the 
house of the Countess de Muire, who, with her 
niece opposed the tyranny of my enforced mistress. 
They insisted that I should not be a menial, and 
farther allowed me to move into their parlor in 
a garb and with a freedom which made me not 
ashamed to face you and your friend.” 

“My friend?” 

“That Russian prince whose cause is also at 
stake. In a word, they will capture Madame de 
Muire, her niece and the old gentleman who vent- 
ured back from exile; the Vidame de Branscourt, 
this night, unless you come between or find a safer 
refuge.” 

“A refuge, you say? I thought that my relatives 
were in safety?” 

“An old tradesman who serves the family gave 
them shelter, but he is suspected of harboring the 
wrong opinions. He is watched and the spies could 
often go into his dwelling as it is over his store.” 

“You must mean Potard? But when I asked news 
of him, he must have put me off with a falsehood.” 

“He was probably enjoined to tell nothing to 
anybody.” 

“And he strikes me as not being very keen- 
witted.” 


THE CANTINEER OF THE IRREGULARS. 293 

'‘At all events, your aunt has all confidence in 
him. He is in a sad way, because they have been 
betrayed while beneath his roof.” 

“Betrayed? Who could have committed this 
shameful deed?” 

“I do not know. They do not know, for they 
would have told me, since I have the confidence of 
Mdlle. de Saintclair,” she added with fervency: “it 
is thus that I am aware of the secret of her heart — 
she loves the Russian, and it is the loss of her hope 
to wed him that preys on her heart. You must know 
what fate awaits them if they are not promptly taken 
from the house in the Bishop’s Square. If you 
should be unable to help them — listen ! I will tell 
my father; he hates these renegades, but he will 
bend to my prayers. With a few men we can extri- 
cate the poor ladies and the noble from the house 
under pretense we are arresting them, and remove 
them into the country.” 

Albert was reflecting on the gravity and immi- 
nence of the danger. 

“Nay, nay, this will never do. It will wreck your 
father’s standing as regards the Emperor, who would 
be slow to overlook such an infraction, and such a 
fraud by the troops he licensed. Is this house of 
Potard’s so watched that nobody can leave it 
unseen?” he asked. 

“Not an hour ago, for Mdlle. de Saintclair, watch- 
ing at an upper window, was able to signal to me and 
call me in. I left it, too, yet I have not been followed. 
See, the coast is clear as far as eye can reach.” 

19 


294 the cantineer of the irregulars. 


“And you had no fear in venturing alone in these 
streets where such a miscellaneous gathering are 
roaming?” 

“I am armed, and I hope with the soldier’s garb 
I have put on some of the martial spirit,” she said 
with a simple gravity which invigorated him. 

“Enough,” he said, with impatience at having 
delayed so long. “You are not mistaken in me; I 
will give my position — my life — my all to fulfill a 
wish of yours; and in this case I am bound to 
assist my own blood, and the beloved of a dear 
friend.” 

Nevertheless, for all his enthusiastic acquies- 
cence, Albert found himself in a quandary. Admit- 
ting that the fugitives might be led out of Potard’s 
house without obstacle, the hardest part of the task 
would have yet to be accomplished. Where could 
he bestow an elderly lady, a young girl and an old 
gentleman? The cornet saw no solution to such a 
problem, and he could not help shuddering if not 
shrinking at the responsibility thrust upon him. 
Still, if Therese took such an affair upon her hands, 
and they were no relatives of hers, while to foster 
the love of another was very romantic grounds for 
her to act in Celine’s behalf^ it ill became him to 
hold aloof. He hoped that on the road some happy 
plan would spring into his mind. 

“Come, mademoiselle,” he said with a tone more 
resolute than was his heart. 

And with a step almost as martial as his own, 
while not less firm, the cantineer of Lecomte’s Rural 


THE CANTINEER OF THE IRREGULARS. 295 


Defenders marched by his side. They had not thus 
kept pace many minutes before the man abruptly 
exclaimed: 

‘T have it!’- 

“What?” said Therese, starting with emotion, for 
her heart had felt the warmer and throbbed the 
faster for such companionship. 

“The shelter for my friends. They shall dwell 
in the residence of the presiding officer of the mili- 
tary court which would have to try them on the 
morrow 1” 


CHAPTER XXL 


THE BETRAYER. 

The young soldier had a very good and at the 
same time a very plain idea, as most good ones are. 
Salvation lay in gaining time. It is true the plan 
presented some rather great difficulties in execution. 
It is only in a large city that one may hide, and 
Troyes was far from offering the resources for that 
purpose of a metropolis at this period. Nearly 
every one knew his neighbor’s business, often better 
than his own. Never had they a finer occasion to 
pry and listen, and this occupation, so dear to the 
country people, had developed greatly since the war. 

As always happens in political crises, or social 
ones, the inhabitants were divided into two camps, 
and the triumphant side had no more eager care 
than to run down the opposition. For the time, the 
royalists were down, and many over-zealous patriots 
deemed it their duty to persecute them to the utter- 
most. No doubt it would have been worthier to 
confine themselves to defending the endangered 
land; but, after all, public sentiment condemned 
those who had greeted the foreign foe, and none 
durst struggle against the current of national opinion. 

Boissier was as little inclined to it as any one, 
but he did not believe he was betraying the country 
in saving an old man and woman, while his sympathy 

296 


THE BETRAYER. 


297 


was all for the girl who was beloved by his Russian 
friend. The confidence in him, which the latter had 
shown while recommending his loved one, had its 
part in making him embrace the project brought by 
Therese. He knew one man who had a tender 
heart like himself on this point — Colonel Champo- 
reau. The latter had sharply outspoken his repug- 
nance for the dread functions which were charged 
on him, and the youth might rely upon his concur- 
rence. The old dragoon would rather ride upon 
four-deep of bayonets than preside over the court- 
martial appointed to condemn fellow-countrymen 
who had gone politically astray. 

“Without prisoners there can be no trial,’' the 
cornet thought; “and they will not look for them 
under the roof of the president of the court.” 

So he had planned to make that domicile the 
place of refuge, by lodging them there, without con- 
sulting the colonel. 

He could the more smoothly make this removal 
as the latter shared with him the rooms left vacant 
by Prince Zodreff. 

Introduced, thanks to Therese who had the pass- 
word, into the presence of his relatives, he was 
hailed as a liberator. For the circumstances, his 
proud aunt had laid aside her killing mien, and 
merely blamed the manner of her niece in suing, 
through almost a stranger, whom she called in off 
the street, for a protector. The plan proposed by the 
dragoon officer was at once debated. 

The refugees’ predicament was most strained. 








298 


THE BETRAYER. 


Spied on all sides, poor Potard dared no longer go 
out even to buy provisions, and the nobles had to 
stoop to living on the eatables in the store. Panar - 
del had eloped on the first day of short rations, and, 
in spite of the handsome promises he had made to 
deliver the rest, had sent no news about himself. 

The place was no longer tenable, and the threat 
of immediate arrest was constant; the loyal opinions 
of the unfortunate tradesman had pointed him out 
for the watchfulness of the oppositionists, and sus- 
picious persons were noticed wandering round. 

Despite the imminence of the peril, Madame de 
Muire showed lukewarmness toward the officer’s 
proposition. In her head, filled with superannuated 
prejudices, she could not hold the idea of begging 
for a haven of a revolutionary soldier. 

To make the intractable dame decide, the ener- 
getic intervention of her old friend the Vidame was 
requisite. Having once been an officer in the royal- 
ist army of Conde, the old noble had a weakness for 
soldiers, and he willingly acknowledged' the bravery 
of the swordsmen who served “the little Corsican 
gentleman,” called by him, “Buonaparte.” This 
was the solitary concession he would make to mod- 
ern ideas, as a representative of the past; but he 
found arguments which impressed the countess. 

“My fair friend,” he said, in a peremptory voice, 
“the profession of arms ennobles, and you may see 
that by your relative, who was the father of this 
worthy young officer. This friend of his, Champor- 
eau, bears a queer name, but he also wears the 


THE BETRAYER. 


299 


epaulet and I do not believe he would betray us.” 

Cecile supported the plea with eloquent looks 
and Albert was given his own way on his answering 
for the colonel as for himself. 

It was settled that the grocer, who was not 
directly concerned, should stay to bar the pursuit of 
inquiring persons, and the little party quitted the 
hospitable house for a safer one, under the dragoon’s 
escort. Through unlooked-for luck, the journey was 
effected without mishap, and the fugitives met 
nobody whatever. To avoid attention, they were 
divided into couples, Albert opening the march with 
the young lady, the countess and her chevalier fol- 
lowing at a distance, the old lady on the beau’s 
decrepit arm. As a rearguard, the cantineer closed 
in the march, and the eyes of the cornet too often 
wandered in that direction for him not to endanger 
the general safety by the neglect of reconnoitring 
before him. Lees enwrapped in her own thoughts 
about the absent one, who was with the hostile army, 
Cecile might have been irritated by the inattention 
of her immediate cavalier, but she made no rebuke 
during the adventure. The entrance of the pro- 
scribed ones into the new abode was effected as 
happily. 

The rooms were empty and Albert had the key, 
so that he could install the three in the suit lately 
occupied by Prince Zodreff. That noble had left 
traces of his occupation in empty bottles and odd 
boots trimmed with fur. Informed of the rank of 
the previous tenant, the countess believed the acci- 


300 


THE BETRAYER. 


dent of good omen. Her aristocratic mind may 
have counterbalanced with the influence of the 
imperial aid — the republican soldiers. 

Seeking more substantial surety, Albert went out 
in quest of Champoreau. Seven o’clock was strik- 
ing, and the new colonel ought to be at the officers’ 
principal resort. He held a congress of his disciples 
and cronies there nightly, to recite his deeds in 
Spain. Boissier had no trouble to discover him, 
but there was much in opening to him the budget of 
his confidence. 

Still it was urgent to let the master of the rooms 
know what was going on in them; though perfectly 
sure of Champoreau’s uprightness, the cornet was 
not without uneasiness about the way in which he 
would receive the news of his floor being taken by 
storm. Tormented with this fear, he crossed the 
threshold of the drinking establishment where mili- 
tary customers were at present in the majority. 

The smoke and the crowd were dense; the clink- 
ing of glasses set empty on the tables; the sharp 
click of dominoes played on the marble slabs, or of 
dice thrown on the boards, rose like notes detached 
on the base of the conversation. Albert was not 
long before recognizing the sonorous accents of the 
colonel, soaring over the uproar like a heavy piece 
of artillery above the fusillade. 

To all appearance the officer was orating upon 
some subject full of interest, for none of his hearers 
interrupted him. 

At times a few approving words were squeaked 


THE BETRAYER. 


301 


out by a shrill organ, which Albert believed he had 
also heard before. 

It seemed a badly chosen moment to interrupt the 
orator in full flow, but the case was grave and time 
so precious that the youth did violence to his timid- 
ity. The pipes were so busily at work that he had 
some trouble to discern the colonel. But he was 
guided by the ringing voice, and he plunged into 
the clouds and reached a group around the stove. 

His appearance was hailed with kindly outcries. 

‘^Here's my own cornet; a son of the brave; a 
relict of the Russian campaign!'' roared Champoreau 
joyfully. ‘‘Room, gentlemen, by the fire and the light 
for the best recruit that the Seventh has had since 
the campaign opened; bar none." 

Albert saluted all the company, but he did not 
take a seat, as he wanted to be free in his move- 
ments to get away and take the colonel with him. 
While he was seeking for an excuse to interrupt his 
superior's flow of eloquence, he felt somebody pluck 
his sleeve. 

“How do you do, comrade?" trilled a shrill voice, 
the same he had already heard. 

Turning and looking he perceived with stupefac- 
tion the face of Panardel, whiter than usual. This 
sorry cavalier was seated astride of a chair with the 
back before him, with the victorious bearing of a 
veteran. He had cocked his shako on one side of 
his head and stuck a huge cigar in his mouth; but 
these braggart graces only augmented the ridiculous 
impression he naturally created. Perhaps tobacco 


302 


THE BETRAYER. 


had not exhilarated him, for he looked very odd with 
pinched nose and discolored lips. His presence 
seemed inexplicable to the new-comer; so much so 
that he almost forgot the aim of his visit, to ques- 
tion this deserter from Potard’s house; but it was no 
time for such inquiry, and he merely replied coldly 
to the greeting. The captain, who did not bear 
malice, tried to lighten the cloud which he noticed. 

“Come, Boissier, as you are a pattern for the 
service,'’ he said, twisting his moustache, “what do 
you think of a cornet who lets fine ladies abduct him 
and keep him so close that he cannot answer the 
roll-call for three days?” 

“Why, captain, I do not understand, why I ” 

“Oh, don’t catch fire so quickly! We are not 
talking about you, but your brother-officer, Panar- 
del, here, who wants to make us believe that the 
ladies of Troyes leagued themselves to prevent him 
rejoining his colors.” 

“Really,” sneered Albert, covering the hussar 
with a scathing look. 

“Just so, and he asserts that these sirens wanted 
to induce him to desert altogether. Upon my word 
of honor, if I were to listen to him he would be- 
tray the house where these conspirators entrapped 
him.” 

“Until I hear even farther proof, I shall never be- 
lieve that one of our officers is capable of such an 
infamous deed,” hissed Albert between his clenched 
teeth. 

“Nay,” faltered the lady-killer, “the colonel has 


THE BETRAYER. 


303 


missed my meaning, and I vow that my intention 
never was to ” 

“I do not busy myself about your intentions, 
broke in Boissier disdainfully, “no more than your 
connections in Troyes; but I introduced you into 
the family of a relative of mine, and if your story 
has any allusion — even indirect, to that lady, I 
give you a formal contradiction.” 

This declaration, as blunt as unexpected, pro- 
duced a disastrous effect on its object. His mealy 
complexion went through all the colors of the rain- 
bow, and amid the silence which always follows a 
a violent outburst in polite society, Panardel was 
heard to utter incoherent apologies. Charmed at 
heart to see the boaster lashed so sharply, the colo- 
nel believed he ought to prevent a quarrel between 
his good soldier and this bad one. 

“Come, come, my dear Boissier,” said he, in a 
fatherly tone, “save your ire for the enemy, and come 
and take a lesson in playing billiards.” 

He had risen while tendering this pacific advice, 
which furnished the dragoon with the chance he 
sought to take him apart. 

“Colonel,” said he as soon as he could speak 
without being overheard, “I want to speak a word 
to you, outside.” 

“Outside?” repeated the officer, who did not long 
to give up the Capua of the coffee-house: “Why, it 
is raining. You must have a serious matter to talk 
about.” 

“The lives of three persons are at stake — those 


304 


THE BETRAYER. 


near and I may say dear to me” faltered Albert, in 
a broken voice. 

‘‘Deuce take it! it is another tune you are singing. 
Left wheel and forward! Whoever heard of an old 
soldier catching a cold in the head, anyhow?” added 
the colonel as he proceeded to the doorway. 

As soon as they were out in the street, he looked 
his lieutenant squarely in the face and said in a jest- 
ing way: 

“I wager that a woman is in the case, and that 
the young woman in the military garments has a 
finger in the pie?” 

“She did lead me into it, that is true, colonel, but 
not for the motive you imagine. She came to ask 
me to save the Countess de Muire and her niece 
Cecile de Saintclair.” 

“The names sound high-flavored, but they are 
not known in the regiment,” observed the other, 
little versed in the peerage of the county. 

“That is true; I forgot that; you would not know?” 
stammered the young man, too perplexed to know 
how to broach the question. 

“Come, my boy,” said the old^ dragoon meekly; 
“you cannot have brought me out here in bad 
weather, not fit for a dog, to tell me your love affairs. 
I shall have a loss of voice to-morrow unless you 
are going to gallop through your report — and I shall 
be unable to take the chair at my council of war.” 

Honest Champoreau involuntarily supplied the 
other with the channel for change of conversation 
sought by him, and he plunged into it like a flash. 


THE BETRAYER. 


305 


“It relates to this council of war, colonel. You 
know that you will have to try each morning the 
prisoners taken in the night. Have you any idea of 
the unfortunate creatures who may be dragged be- 
fore you?” 

“May 'Marshal Volwarts’ put my dragoons to 
rout if I have the faintest idea.’' 

“One is an old royalist officer, who is too feeble 
to fight except with his tongue; wrongheaded only 
in his opinions in politics; two others are ladies — a 
relative of mine, whom I call my aunt, the Countess 
de Muire, and her niece Mdlle. de Saintclair, who is 
loved by my dearest friend — out of our army. I 
mean,” went on Boissier, who felt that he might 
now express his regard for his instructor. 

“Oho! my dear boy; the matters become grave, 
indeed. Egad; court-martials do not trifle, and 
however I might wish to save your friends, I would 
have to sentence them all the same. But is it not the 
old lady of title at whose residence I called for you 
the night we went to Montmirail?” 

“The same, commander.” 

“Humph! I saw the old nobleman there, and I 
heard stuff talked that did not please me. In fact, 
these courtiers have licked the Czar’s boots, and 
your high and mighty dame strikes me as being a 
bit treasonable.” 

“She is of my blood, a friend of my mother when 

I was a child, and ” Albert broke down with 

emotion, as childhood’s remembrances flowed upon 
him. 


3o6 the betrayer. 

“That is another matter. For an old friend of 
my mother’s I would charge a battery of twelve- 
pounders. But in the name of all that is vexatious, 
what does the old cat want to scratch up these 
muddy holes for?” 

“Nobody is more sorry than I, colonel; but the 
time for crying over spilt milk is past, and if the 
countess should be arrested this night ” 

“Come to the point,” interrupted Champoreau, 
“I am not eager to try the woman, and if your coun- 
tess is not brought before me in the morning, I shall 
not run round the town to look for her. Then, as 
we shall be marching out in a day or two, and we 
shall not be here again unless the Allies compel the 
return, she has only to keep under cover this night, 
and the trick will be played.” 

“Her hiding-place is known — she has been be- 
trayed and in an hour she will be cast into prison — ” 

“Betrayed — are there men who betray? If I only 
knew the rogue who carries on this vile trade, I ” 

“You will soon know him, colonel, but it is not 
that fellow who is now in question,” said Boissir. 
with momentary hesitation about telling Panardel’s 
name. 

“I suppose it is so, by Jove, but in any event, a 
rich old lady has droll tastes to mix up with con- 
spiracies,” said the old dragoon. Then, beating his 
forehead, he exclaimed, “since you are so well 
versed in the countess’ affairs, I suppose that you 
know where she is lying perdu? 

“I do know, colonel.” 


THE BETRAYER. 


307 


'‘Why don’t you go straight and take her to some 
place where the spies will not find her?” 

“I have done so, commandant.” 

“You have? That’s military promptness any- 
how, but, then,” he said much surprised, “oh, I see — 
you fear that the place is not quite safe and that the 
master of the house may sell her — the rascal?” 

“That I do not fear, colonel. For the man under 
whose roof I have placed her is the most worthy 
and honorable of men.” 

“But, in short, where is this countess?” 

“In your lodgings, dear colonel,” replied Albert 
as calmly as he could speak. 

“In my lodgings?” repeated Champoreau, dis- 
playing all the signs of the sharpest astonishment. 

“Yes, at yours — or ours, if you want me to be 
very exact,” returned the cornet with simplicity. 
“Have I been wrong in relying on your tender heart, 
colonel?” 

“No, hang it all! my heart is in the right place — 
but, while I admit that you have acted well enough, 
you might have consulted me.” 

“Time was wanting, and, besides, I believed my- 
self so sure ” 

“Sure of what?” grumbled the veteran, who fail- 
ed to give himself a vexed air; “sure that I should not 
betray them? That was a hard guess to make where 
I was concerned, I do not think. But don’t you run 
away with the belief that I am going to thank you 
for having nested those white crows in my rooms. 
Never! by Jupiter, never, sir!” 


308 


THE BETRAYER. 


do not require your thanks, colonel, but your 
help in saving them.’* 

“Save them — save ? This is a pretty state of things. 
You young officers never doubt a thing — dash ye! 
You want this villainous crew protected by me — 
whom the Emperor has appointed president of a 
council of war to try such turncoat French who 
fawn on the foreign invader? As well expect a 
grocer to kick his customers out of the door.” 

“But colonel, I will take the whole upon my 
shoulders, if you like. I received them in our 
rooms, and you can shut your eyes to the reception 
and housing. Did you not hint something of the 
kind a while ago? The main thing is to gain time.” 

Instead of answering, Champoreau stamped, and 
testily pulled at his moustache. Knowing the value 
of this latter token, Albert considered it prudent to 
wait for the end of the storm, and he was right. For 
want of objections to pulverize, the honest old sold- 
ier had to relax gradually. 

“You ought to know,” he finally said, after silence 
full of menace, “that your fine lady will be badly 
housed in bachelor apartments.” 

“At the present time, the countess does not 
think of luxuries,” replied the officer demurely. 

“Maybe so; yet I recall having smoked three 
pipes in the sitting-room, and that must strike 
strong on a nose habituated to fancy perfumes — and 
again, the young lady — where the deuce did you put 
her, poor girl? ” 

“Mdlle. de Saintclair stays beside her aunt, col- 


THE BETRAYER. 


309 


onel; she will bless you as her aunt does if you will 
allow her to stay in your apartments until the danger 
passes.” 

I allow? I should like to hear how I can do 
otherwise? You do not imagine that I am going to 
notify the Provost Marshal where to lay hands on 
them, do you? But others may betray them. Have 
you taken any precautions against my orderlies see- 
ing them?” 

*‘Mine has not yet been detached from the squad- 
ron, and yours was outdoors when the ladies took 
possession.” 

^‘Humph! he is always out of an evening, to get 
drunk, too, the brute; but I am not sorry for that, 
now, though I do mourn for my old Ratibal, who 
would surely have hit upon some scheme to get us 
out of the pinch. While we wait for the Germans 
to turn him over to me, we must shift as we can 
without him. Come, come, Boissier, keep cool, con- 
found you! and hold your head up! conduct me to 
the ladies, unless you think they will be frightened 
by my old moustache.” 

^'Oh, colonel, you never think that! They know 
all about your kindness to me, for I have kept up a 
correspondence with the old lady, because of her 
goodness to me when I came home, parentless, from 
Russia as my uncle, a man of business, did not want 
to be bothered by a boy. And Mdlle. de Saintclair 
is her reader, so that she has seen your name more 
often as her aunt.” 

‘‘You sly dog! to take me on the weak flank; 

20 


310 


THE BETRAYER. 


you know that with the reminder of your loss of 
your father in Russia, you can lead me where you will. 
To the route, by twos — forward, march! I would not 
mind going to Siberia, with you.” 

“We shall be more warmly received than there.” 

In less than a quarter of an hour, the two dra- 
goon officers arrived before the late dwelling of 
Prince Zodreff. The fugitives awaited with very 
natural anxiety the return of their friend, and he was 
hailed by a concert of gratitude. 

Boissier had preceded his commander by a little 
to prepare the way; for at heart he still distrusted 
his aristocratic relative’s prejudices. This foresight 
assured the self-made colonel of the welcome which 
he had so many claims to receive. The countess 
proved kindly, Cecile was affected to tears, and the 
Vidame was cordial More could not be expected 
from old fossils, and all the weight of facts was re- 
quired to make them bow to being saved by a satrap 
of the Emperor. 

Champoreau received all the courtesies and 
thanks like one whom external demonstrations little 
touched. He ruled his bearing on principles strange 
to social etiquette, and in the present case acted 
solely to please his favorite, the young cornet. It 
was vainly that the Vidame tried to draw him into a 
valuation of the Royal-Cravate Hussars as compared 
with the Seventh Dragoons, for the colonel disdained 
his advances, and confined himself to a surly benevo- 
lence, which expressed perfectly the state of his 
feelings. 


THE BETRAYER. 


3II 

do not know anything about the royal regi- 
ments/’ he said, to cut short the old noble’s ram- 
blings, “but I know the orders which regulate the 
service of the French Cavalry, and I never have 
read in them that an officer is to act as a policeman. 
Therefore, it is not I who will come to seek you to 
place you before the court over which I have the 
honor to preside, and I go further in answering for 
it that nobody will come here to disturb you. But 
you must do me the kindness not to go out until 
to-morrow evening, as I guarantee nothing outside 
my house, and this good town of Troyes abounds in 
spies.” 

“Be easy on that head, sir,” said the countess; 
“we are too grateful for your hospitality so kindly 
granted to expose ourselves to any danger.” 

“Quite right,” bluntly added the soldier, “for I 
should follow my conscience if I had to try you.” 
This outburst cast a cold cloud on the audience, 
which the honest dragoon tried to moderate by add- 
ing, with a gallant intention: “My hope is that the 
ladies will not find the time hang heavy, as my 
squadron is ordered on active service two mornings 
hence, and our friend Boissier will keep you com- 
pany till we march.” 

“Going to leave us, colonel?” inquired Cecile, in 
a timid voice, and raising on him for a moment 
those blue eyes which had in one glance transfixed 
the Russian prince’s heart. 

The old officer was about to reply, and was 


312 


THE BETRAYER. 


brushing up some polite sentences to excuse himself 
when hurried steps sounded noisily on the stairs. 

‘‘What blunderer comes to disturb us?’' he mut- 
tered to himself. “Boissier, come and help me to 
entertain him!” 

The somewhat alarmed cornet followed his 
superior out upon the landing, after taking the care 
to close the door behind them, so that the proscripts 
were shielded from inquisitive eyes. They arrived 
just in time to check Panardel on the last step, as he 
came in breathless haste. 

“What in thunder do you want here?” challenged 
Champoreau, in anything but an encouraging voice. 

“Please, colonel,” faltered the hussar, trying to 
catch his breath, “an order was brought you at the 
cafe. I thought it must be in haste, and as I knew 
I would find you at home, I ” 

“You knew — how the mischief did you know? I 
do not like this sort of peeping and prying; do you 
hear me, cornet?” 

“But, colonel, I assure you ” 

“Enough! take your confounded assurance to 
the guard-room for three days. You are under arrest 
— to teach you to mind your own business! Now, 
hand over the missive.” 

Overwhelmed by this reward for his doing a 
kind act, Agenor held out without a farther word 
the oflScial despatch, of which the dragoon hastened 
to snap the seal and break the wrapper. 

“A thousand thunders! ” he broke forth as soon 
as his eyes had run over the lines. 


THE BETRAYER. 


313 


** What is it now? asked the younger officer, 
with uneasiness. 

We start to-night, dear boy ! our brigade is 
chosen for the vanguard. My orders are to have 
‘boots and saddle! ’ sounded at once, and in an hour 
we will be out of this rat-hole of a town. Thank 
heaven, no more court business — no more — here, 
what the deuce are you listening for? ” cried Cham- 
poreau to Panardel, whom he distrusted by instinct. 

“ But, colo — 

“ Go to your quarters and keep in them till fur- 
ther orders, or by the Lord 1 I will lug you to them 
myself and recommend you to your captain. Cor- 
net Boissier, you have twenty minutes to join me in. 
Put things in order here, lock up and bring me the 
keys,*' said the old officer, with a wink to the younger 
one, as he thrust before him the bewildered Panardel. 

Albert understood that this unexpected order 
signified the safety of his friends. By a surplus of 
good luck, for three days the dangerous Agenor was 
put out of the way to work evil. Thus all fell as 
might be wished. To rush back into the sitting-^ 
room, inform the countess of what was going on, and 
exact the promise that she would not stir out of this 
inviolable sanctuary until the army departed — this 
was soon done. He also found time to assure Cecile 
that, if the fortune of war brought him within hear- 
ing of the Russian prince, he would not consider he 
was a traitor to his cause in telling this enemy and 
foreigner that he had a loving friend on the French 
side. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


“obey orders!” 

The last day of the last great campaign of Na- 
poleon had arrived. On the thirtieth of March, 1814, 
after twenty-two years of incredible triumphs, the 
glorious soldiers who had conquered Europe from 
the Kremlin to the cathedral of Lisbon, were driven 
to bay to defend Paris. With olden survivors of the 
Republican phalanxes, and boys drafted before the 
right age, they were ranked on the heights protect- 
ing the capital to the north. At three o'clock the 
decisive time came, and the French line receded, 
though the Allies did not advance from having lost 
so heavily. 

The suburb Belleville held out, and was the key 
of the position ; but now the enemy came upon it, 
down the slopes on all sides, and would infallibly 
overpower the remnant of the brave. The last de- 
fenders of France knew that they were to perish 
with her, but not one even looked behind to see if 
flight were possible. 

At the head of the reduced squadron which 
formed all the cavalry left to the detachment, Colo- 
nel Champoreau and Cornet Boissier exchanged sad 
looks and a few words. They seemed typical of the 
resistance — the veteran and the Youngest Soldier of 
the Grande Armee. 


OBEY orders! 


3IS 

Heroism is hereditary, and the youth bore him- 
self, tireless and unflinching like the warrior of a 
hundred pitched battles. He was determined not to 
survive the final disaster in preparation for his 
country and he had renounced all his dreams of love 
and happiness since he had seen march into the 
thick of battle the legion, lessened to a couple of com- 
panies, of Jacques Lecomte. Accepting the threat 
of the Allies, that irregulars would be given no 
quarter, they had replaced their tattered flag with a 
black banner, and the vivandiere who bore it by the 
side of her father, streaked with blood from wounds 
of her own, wore the same fixed expression as her 
sire, of one who had bidden farewell to life. The 
rustic flageolets which replaced the fifes of the regu- 
lar drum corps, were playing a country air, more fit- 
ted for a dance than a battle, and with this odd 
memory, he pictured the poor girl surrounded by 
the savage hordes of Russia and Austria. 

At the approach of the supreme hour, bethought 
of her alone, the patriot who set him an example 
how to lay his life on the altar of his country. It 
only cost him a pang to die without saying, “We 
shall meet again!” to her. 

The hosts massed up and rolled toward them, 
silent and full of threatening. 

“In half an hour we shall be environed,” he 
remarked to Champoreau. 

“And in an hour, marked ‘Dead, Wounded or 
Missing,’ ” added the old dragoon, chewing his 
moustache in rage. “However, I would rather go 


3i6 


OBEY orders! 


down here than see the Germans march under the 
Arch of the Triumph of the Grande Arm^e/' 

The Russian columns had come within grape- 
shot range, and the eight-gun battery opened fire all 
together. A hail of iron swept upon the serried 
body of the assailants, and whose ranks were leveled 
like growing grain by the wind. But the bleeding 
furrows filled up, and the speedily re-formed line 
continued to surge onward. 

“What iron men they are,'' muttered Champoreau; 
“upon my word, they want twice Jcilling.'' 

Cannonading and musketry roared at the same 
time on all sides of the tableland, and it was clear 
that the enemy proposed a general attack. The 
foot battalions were hurried ' forward to oppose the 
Russians with the bayonet, and Champoreau massed 
his platoon on the road where the ground allowed 
him to charge. 

At this juncture, on the slope of the hill, a hun- 
dred paces higher up than the French ranks, 
appeared a cavalier dashing at the top of speed 
toward Charenton. He thus had to go around the 
level land on the incline; bending on the neck of his 
magnificent grey charger with floating mane and tail, 
he had to run the gauntlet of the whole of the hos- 
tile fire. To judge by his plume and gold epaulets, he 
was a Russian officer of high rank, and Champoreau, 
who was an expert in bravery, could not help com- 
menting in an undertone: 

“There goes a plucky fellow." 

“The grey horse — fire at the grey horse," shouted 


OBEY orders! 317 

the soldiers, as they directed on thedntrepid racer a 
well-sustained fire. 

But the Russian seemed to have a talisman 
against bullets, for he reached the extreme end of 
the line without being hit. 

“That is an order for this general, which is flying 
past under our nose,” grumbled Champoreau. 

He spoke too soon, for at the very time he was 
concluding his sentence, the horse and the rider rolled 
over one another on the ground. 

“Killed two birds with one stone!” gleefully 
exclaimed the old dragoon. 

Both man and beast seemed to have been struck 
simultaneously, for they formed but one motionless 
body. They had fallen exactly above the spot 
where the dragoons were stationed, and out of the 
route followed by the Russian column advancing 
upon the battery. On the right the plateau was 
already won by the Paskievitz Greadiers. 

It was the time to enter into the strife and die, 
and Albert was gathering up the reins to ride in, 
when Champoreau's hand was laid on his shoulder 
and his curt voice said: 

“Cornet Boissier, dismount, and go and get the 
dispatches which that officer must be carrying. 
When you hold them, try to join the marshal, who 
ought to be at the end of Belleville town, and give 
them to him.” 

“But, colonel, you are about to charge, and the 
squadron — ” 

“The squadron?” repeated Champoreau in an 


318 


OBEY orders! 


overbearing voice, “I do not need you in our ride 
into death. Obey orders!” 

And waving farewell with his hand, the old dra- 
goon collected his men, and flung them with himself 
upon the van of the Russians. Before Boissier 
could stir, the whole troop vanished in whirls of 
smoke. 

The young officer understood that Champoreau 
was trying to save his life by charging him with a 
duty only less perilous than the desperate charge, 
but he felt almost humiliated by the favor. But it 
was too late to bid for that chance of being killed, 
and besides — “Obey orders,” rang in his ears. He 
resigned himself, left the saddle, and began to de- 
scend the hillside. It was slippery and full of im- 
pediments, and the officer lay by his horse a gun- 
shot distant. 

The cannon thundered no longer, but the fusil- 
lade continued, and the bullets whistled on all sides. 

Boissier made haste, and was no more than ten 
paces from the slain steed, when the Russ rose be- 
hind the improvised breastwork, although believed 
dead by Champoreau, with a pistol in each hand. 

Albert had all the disadvantages of the situation. 
He had gone forward without apprehension and 
precaution, and he faced a living foe instead of a 
corpse. The man was armed and was shielded by 
the carcass. The cornet had not yet unsheathed 
his sword as it would not parry the flying bullets, 
and his horse, which he led by the bridle, only ham- 
pered him. But any idea of fleeing did not come to 


OBEY orders! 


319 


him. He knew enough about warfare to feel that to 
rush at danger was better than to await it. 

So, without flinching, he let go the horse, drew 
his sword, and sprang, with his head down, upon the 
enemy. In three strides he was upon the obstacle 
and he was going to strike at random when a burst 
of merry laughter made him stop and raise his head. 

Prince Zodreff was before him, fresh as from a 
bandbox, cool and gay as when he quitted him at 
Troyes, a month before. 

“Why, it is you, dear friend,” said the Muscovite, 
flinging down the firearms to hold out both hands. 

Albert did not reflect, but accepted the grasp 
tendered him. 

There are periods when the strained nerves relax, 
and young hearts melt in spite of strict reason and 
inexorable duty. The cornet forgot that he held an 
enemy at his sword’s point to yield to the charm of 
the unexpected meeting. The warlike instincts of 
the Latin races are linked with a chivalric, romantic 
sentiment. 

“There cannot be a doubt that I am overwhelmed 
with good fortune this day,” the Russ said, as de- 
lighted as the other. “To be peppered by two or 
three hundred musket-shots and not be hit by one, 
and to find you alive after such a rough campaign — 
it is greater joy than I deserve.” 

“Alive?” echoed Boissier: “I hope I shall not 
survive this day,” groaned the young officer, sud- 
denly remembering that France was in her death- 
throes. 


320 


OBEY orders! 


“What are you talking about, dear fellow?’* said 
the other, with a puzzled air. “Have you the ex- 
travagant idea of getting killed here, because Belle- 
ville will be taken in an hour’s time?” 

“Yes, I would rather die than see my country 
conquered,” muttered Albert in a hollow voice. 

“That might be heroic in your eyes,” tranquilly 
replied Zodreff, “but it does not seem intelligent to 
me. Heroism? You, and your army have shown in 
these two months a sufficiency of it to amaze four 
generations; but we are ten against one, and the 
glory is all on your side. It would be foolery for 
you to die. Besides, I oppose it, and I have a right 
to do so, as you are my prisoner. If you do not be- 
lieve me, look!” added the prince, picking up one of 
his pistols and aiming at the other with comic gravity. 

The cornet cast a desperate glance round him. 
During this short colloquy, the scene of the battle 
had shifted. The level land surmounting the height 
was clear. The French battery had vacated the 
position before superior forces, the infantry had 
fallen back to the main street of the-suburb, and the 
intrepid horsemen led by Champoreau had disap- 
peared in the smoke. Beneath him, on the plain of 
Pantin, Albert perceived nothing but the dark, solid 
masses of the enemy, surging onward for the last 
assault. 

All was over; Paris was taken. 

Albert laid his sword across his knee, snapped it, 
let the halves drop to the ground, and folded his 
arms with more rage than grief. 


OBEY orders! 


321 


“Why break it?” gently inquired Zodreff, “you 
are well aware that I should never have asked you 
to deliver it.” 

The youth quivered with emotion, too powerful 
for him to utter a single word. 

“My dear Albert,” continued the boyar, visibly 
affected also, “only one word farther, and when you 
have heard me, you are free to act as you please. It 
is less than two years ago since your countrymen 
invaded Russia.” 

The cornet could not help starting with revival 
.of painful memories. 

“Moscow was a sacred city to us who also feel 
patriotism, believe me. When it was occupied, Eur- 
ope might well believe that the Empire of the Czars 
no longer existed.” 

Boissier recalled the feelings that the new Alex- 
ander had won the world which actuated his mother 
in her mad race to be with her husband in the halls 
of Peter the Great. 

“Nevertheless, a new Moscow has risen from 
those ashes, and to-morrow, pardon me telling you 
so, our army will parade on your boulevards. There- 
fore, have faith in the future, and believe that a 
great nation is never crushed out. For one thing, 
we do not want France wrecked, for such as I 
like to visit it once a year.” He spoke lightly, but, 
with true feeling, added: “ever as a friend!” 

Boissier was but young, and his sorrow could not 
stand against such cordiality and sound reasoning. 

“I shall be always happy to greet you, prince,” 


322 


OBEY orders! 


he said, as once more he wrung the projffered hand. 
“Ah, if all our enemies were of your pure metal,” he 
sighed, unable to forget all the scenes of the inva- 
sion. 

“Come, come, I wager that you are thinking of 
the Austrian hussar. So am I. I have something 
to tell you about that rascal, in connection with 
some near to you.” 

The place was ill chosen for confidential conver- 
sation. 

“Well,” resumed the prince, being probably of 
that opinion, “we are obliged to quit each other. 
Night is drawing on, and the fighting is weakening; 
besides, I do not see why I should not tell you that 
the message I am carrying probably contains the 
capitulation of Paris.” 

Boissier hung his head and turned pale. 

'“I must see you to-morrow,” Zodreff hastened to 
add, “so let us make an appointment for the even- 
ing.” 

“I will wait for you at my uncle’s, the bankers, 
in the Rue Mont Blanc, where he will be happy to 
see you. He is a man of millions, and the saying 
is: ‘Rich as a Russian!’ — you will agree.” 

The other ran his hand over his silky moustache 
without grasping at the invitation. 

“My dear Albert,” he said, after some hesitation, 
“I shall be happy to make your relative’s acquaint- 
ance, but I beg to be excused to-morrow.” 

Boissier nodded politely in assent. 

“I hope you are not going to make fun of me, 


OBEY orders! 


323 


but I will risk the truth. I came to Paris in 1807, 
after the peace of Tilsitt, and I had such a lively 
winter as I never have enjoyed since. So I made a 
vow that if ever I were again m your capital, I would 
spend the first night in the Palais Royal. Ah, you 
would not know what dreariness is in our northern 
city!’' 

Albert shook his head; Russia did not sound 
sweetly in his ears. 

“So, then it is agreed this way — to-morrow, at 
seven, I shall expect you in the rotunda,” he said, 
joyously. 

This appointment for a merry evening, given 
tranquilly to the accompaniment of distant cannon- 
ading, so greatly surprised the Frenchman that he 
could not raise a single objection. 

“And now, dear friend, I am going to join our 
staff, over somew^here by Romainville, and I vow to 
you that the war is over as far as I am concerned. 
You can freely enter Paris in this quarter,” he sub- 
joined, pointing to a path winding round the hill. 

“It is not there that fighting is going on,” 
returned Albert, proudly lifting his head, “and I 
must join those still defending the outworks.” 

Without waiting for the prince to try again to 
turn him from his resolution, the dragoon strode 
toward Belleville. 

“You mad fellow,” called out the Russ after him, 
“mind you keep your appointment to-morrow, any- 
how!” And in the hope, no doubt, that he might 
strike some corresponding chord in the youth, he 


324 


OBEY orders! 


shouted: am in love with your cousin, and I 

want to talk the matter over with you.” 

The Frenchman did not turn his head as he hur- 
ried on; already he had forgotten “his friend, the 
enemy,” as before him seemed to rise the stern face 
of the farmer’s daughter. If she lived yet, he was 
sure of finding her beside her father, where the last 
handful of defenders were dying in the breach. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 

The principal promenade of the Parisians in 
1814, The Palais Royal, offered a very strange sight 
on Thursday evening, March the 31st. 

At five p. M. on the 30th, the Capitulation of Paris 
had been signed, and the Allied Sovereigns made 
their entry next morning. The sacrifice was accom- 
plished: the foreigner strode as a master on the 
pavement of the city which had laid down the law 
to Europe during fifteen years. Eager to enjoy the 
conquest, the strangers spread over the immense 
metropolis, object of their envy and hate, and 
at nightfall all around the Palais Royal resem- 
bled a bivouac of cavalry. Cossacks and Uhlans, 
Croats and Hungarians, held their masters’ horses 
before the drinking and supper-saloons. In the 
arcades, the boyars, in haste to squander the earn- 
ings of thousands of serfs, and the Germans, thirsty 
to taste the light French wines, jostled one another. 

The stores blazed with lights; appetizing fumes 
and Bacchic songs floated out of the half-opened 
doors of celebrated dining-rooms, and the numbers 
of the famous gambling saloons showed red on 
white transparencies over glowing doorways. 

The miscellaneous rabble, attracted from all 

points of the compass, as greedily rushed upon the 
21 325 


326 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 


feast of pleasures as they had stormed the heights 
of Belleville. 

In the midst of this orgie of nations, Frenchmen 
were few. 

On the threshold of the Lamblin Coffee-house, 
then frequented by military officers, several gloomy 
faces might be seen, wearing long, full-skirted coats of 
a soldierly cut, and carrying club-headed canes ; these 
last representatives of the defeated army looked, with 
dull and threatening eyes, on the rejoicings of the 
vanquishers. They were few in number, as the Con- 
vention concluded with the Marshals had excluded 
the troops from Paris; but their condensed choler 
could be read, and so burning a desire for reprisal 
that the least accident might bring on a sanguinary 
riot. 

Chief in the hostile group, might be remarked 
Champoreau by his high figure and broad shoulders. 
He had tried to throw away his life on the previous 
day without avail. Ten times he had charged, almost 
singly, into the cense masses of the infantry, but 
death had evaded him after defiance for twenty 
years. After defending Paris in the streets, on foot, 
with a musket, to the last paving stone of the 
suburb, he had entered the city when night ended 
the combat. Mad with rage, his breastplate hewn 
off, his clothes in strips, his face blackened with 
powder, he had found shelter at the house of a 
retired officer. There he assumed the civilian’s garb 
worn in his few stays in town, and he had passed 
the day fretting without his old companion-in-arms 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 


327 


being able to comfort him. Unable to stay in doors 
any longer, Champoreau had gone out at nightfall 
to the Lamblin Coffee-house, where he hoped to 
meet friends and hear the news. 

He had to go through the Valois Gallery, where 
swarmed the merry-makers, and his patriotic fury 
had overflowed. He stood by the entrance to pitch 
upon any one who gave him a pretext for a quarrel; 
but it never came. The foreigners had not taken 
possession of the famous pleasure-resort with pug- 
nacious feelings. They were much more engrossed 
in the gastronomical rarities, displayed in the 
windows and in dubious strollers in fine feathers, 
than in morose conquered warriors. 

For an hour the colonel spent his ferocious glare 
and his provoking bearing for his pains, and began 
to despair that he should bring about a duel. Sud- 
denly, he frowned more blackly than ever, as he 
believed he recognized somebody in the throng, and 
after a second’s scrutiny, he uttered a growling ex- 
clamation and plunged into the thickest of the 
human current. By energetically plying his elbows, 
he soon reached a young man, clad in the latest 
fashion, who was walking before him. 

“Albert!” he roughly called, as he seized his arm. 

“The colonel!” was the promenader’s reply as he 
turned around quickly. 

Thinking the place ill-fitted for a conversation, 
Champoreau left the crowd again and led his prize 
out into the central garden. As soon as they were 
free of spectators, Boissier wanted to shake the cav- 


328 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 


airy officer's hand, but the other drew back and 
sternly said: 

“Why are you masquerading here, in mufti^ 
among all these execrable foreigners?” 

“But, colonel,” rejoined the cornet with some 
embarrassment, “I assure you that I am not here 
for pleasure-making, and that I suffer as much as 
you by this profanation; only I promised to be 
here.” 

“Promised whom?” demanded Champoreau, still 
sulkily. 

“Prince Zodreff; why should I not tell you? 
Yesterday, on the Butte, he spared my life, and I 
wanted to live, because whatever happens to Napo- 
leon, he has a son — ” 

“Right, boy! you may live to see the King of 
Rome Emperor of the civilized world. Good! But 
after all, I am indee'd glad to see you again,” and 
the veteran hugged the youth to his breast with 
vehement affection. “I am thankful to your prince, 
though he is a Russian.” 

“And so you, too, escaped this disaster?” 

“Not through any fault of mine — a thousand 
thunders, no! But since I have found you again, I 
can almost console myself for seeing these brigands 
in Paris. Attention! heads up, eyes front — I believe 
here comes your Russian looking for you,” so Cham- 
poreau interrupted himself. 

Boissier turned around quickly, and perceived 
the Muscovite hastening toward him with open 
arms. 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 


329 


“Oh, my dear fellow, how charming you are to 
be so punctual,” said the Russian with a soft tone, 
like the drawl of the dandies of the epoch. 

“Prince,” said Albert, shaking the hand cordially 
held out, “let me present to you my friend, Cham- 
poreau. Colonel commanding the. Seventh Dra- 
goons, my immediate captain.” 

The Russ offered his other hand, which threw 
the old dragoon into great perplexity, as he was 
very distrustful about foreigners. He colored up, 
but finally determined to accept the courtesy and 
almost crushed the proffered hand in his grip. 

“Welcome, commandant,” said the prince, with- 
out appearing to notice the hesitation; “I am a sol- 
dier like yourself, and we may be friends, now the 
war is finished.” 

Champoreau bcwed, a trifle less stiffly. 

“I discount the friendship beforehand,” said Zod- 
reff, “for I am going to ask a favor of you.” 

The colonel fairly stared with amaze, which 
Boissier could not help sharing. 

“I have a duel to fight,” continued the other in 
the calmest of tones, “and I should like you and 
Albert to stand by and see fair play.” 

“If it is against a Frenchman, you must not look 
to me,” replied Champoreau brusquely. 

“What do you take me for, colonel? I, fight 
with your fellow-countrymen, whom I adore, and I 
have been chafing these two years because I had to 
cross swords with them? No! a thousand noes! 
My adversary is a South German.” 


330 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 


“That alters the case, and if Boissier calls for me 
any time to-morrow, I — 

“Pardon me, the engagement is for to night, I 
am given to understand,’' went on the prince, mys- 
teriously. 

“This evening,” repeated the two dragoons in 
unison. 

“Quite so. It is simple enough. This affair has 
been impending since some time past, as the adver- 
sary did wrong to a relative of mine; that might have 
been condoned, but the villain has been persecuting 
with his addresses a young lady to whom I have the 
honor to be engaged, and — need I say more? As I 
want to have some sport in Paris I have tried to set- 
tle this matter at once. Luckily a handy little fel- 
low has come to my aid, and he has promised that 
my antagonist shall be brought face to face with me 
this night.” 

“Strange! At such an hour!” 

“Tush! My intermediary is sharp and quick. Half 
an hour to go to the rendezvous and another to get 
through the affair and, you see, I shall not detain 
you long.” 

“Faith, the proposition suits me,” said the colonel, 
“and if his seconds show fight I will take one of 
them.” 

“Well, no, I hardly think his companions will 
fight for himf remarked the prince, with a sar- 
castic smile. “I thank you for your adhesion, and 
he ought to thank you as well, for his being killed 
by a sword will save him from being hanged.” 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 


331 


“I am ready to go with you,” said Champoreau. 

‘‘And I, prince, thank you for having selected 
me,” added Boissier, who had divined the antagonist. 

“Very well, gentlemen, I am proud to have for 
my support two officers so brave; though I grant 
that it is showing too much honor to a scamp of the 
worst degree, and I am almost tempted to let him 
perish in the halter, as he merits — only my being his 
executioner may spare a fairer hand.” 

“Let me tell you, prince,” interposed Albert 
quickly, “that if you have any repugnance to deal 
with this fellow, I undertake to expedite him to the 
nether world.” 

“Nay,” said the Russ, after an instant’s medita- 
tion and quite gaily, “the rogue wears an epaulet, 
all things remembered, and I can give him a sword- 
cut without degrading myself. It had better be me, 
taking all ‘into consideration.’ ” 

“Well, let us march upon the blackguard,” said 
the commandant, swinging his formidable walking 
staff with a grand sweep. 

“I beg five minutes to put a question to my as- 
sistant, whom I descry at the end of that walk, and 
we shall be off immediately,” replied the boyar, 
directing his steps to the end of the gardens. 

“What do you think of all this?” asked Cham- 
poreau, as soon as he was alone with his young com- 
panion. 

“Merely that we are going to deal out justice to 
the scoundrel who stole away Therese Lecomte from 
her father’s house at Eclaron,” cried Boissier with heat. 


332 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 


“That Red Hussar!” exclaimed the dragoon com- 
mander. “Ha! A million thunders! What a pleasure 
it will be to see him run through; still, I should like 
to do it myself best.” ^ 

“We might have a turn at him,” muttered Albert 
between his clenched teeth. “The fox has as many 
turns and tricks as a fiend.” 

“Here I am, gentlemen,” called out the prince, 
suddenly appearing among the trees. “All is ready 
for the chase, as I am told that the game will be de- 
coyed out of his lair and led to where we want to 
hold him at bay. Only, as he must not be attacked in 
the thoroughfares, since he would but have to raise 
the cry in German that the French were upon him, to 
have us all overwhelmed by a host — I propose the 
following steps. Our man is up yonder in those 
gambling rooms, at No. 9, at the table. My envoy 
will induce him to come out, and as soon as he pro- 
ceeds in the pursuit of a living bait we will follow 
him. I am aware that this looks a low act, but I beg to 
say that it is not of my contrivance. Only, learning 
what was afoot, and fearing that the woman and the 
boy who devised the affair were making an ambus- 
cade and assassination of what ought to be a duel, I 
claimed the right as the kinsman of the murdered 
Hermann, of having the first blow. Is this still 
agreeable, gentlemen?” 

“As much as ever,” returned Champoreau, “on 
condition, indeed, that we have a fair fight,” for he 
did not like so much mystery. 

“I give you my word of honor,” said the prince; 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 


333 


“against this villain, we are forced to adopt these 
indispensable precautions. I shall call you, Albert, 
presently, to follow me, as we will attract less atten- 
tion going separately.” 

Champoreau and the younger dragoon exchanged 
glances and understood that their minds were alike 
made up. 

“Come on,” said the elder laconically, as he 
started to walk in the sandy path of the gardens, 
where it was as dark as the illuminated buildings all 
around the oblong space were bright. 

This contrast was favorable for perceiving what 
occurred there without being noticed, and indeed 
nobody in the arcades paid them any heed. Their 
watch did not long endure, as, in some twenty 
minutes, they saw the prince come away from the 
gaming-house doorway, and presently appeared, 
coming down its stairs, two figures which presented 
each a more or less familiar aspect. In the first, 
slight, short and juvenile, was seen a street boy, 
beardless, sallow, with a grimy smudge on the upper 
lip which betokened a poor, scrubby moustache in 
the bud, who looked like any one of the thousands 
of his class; they infested the streets, offering to 
guide the strangers here, there and anywhere, for a 
few silver pieces, speakingasmattering of languages 
and making up for any deficiencies by a supera- 
bundance of gestures. 

The gentleman whom he escorted — piloted, we 
had better say, was clad in the undress of a military 
officer, but from his tallness and thinness, the dra- 


334 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 


goons recognized the Red Hussar, much more 
quickly than they did the boy, who was the irre- 
pressible Cocagne. The latter was disguised even 
for Minden’skeen eyes and suspicious nature, which, 
however, the drafts of champagne, freely tendered 
on the gaming-house sideboard, had somewhat be- 
fogged. 

On emerging from the doorway, with his eyes of 
the night-hawk, the little drummer had espied 
Prince Zodreff at a short distance and he sent him 
a glance of warning. But at the next instant, he 
made a gesture to another figure in the varied 
throng. And he directed Minden’s eyes to the lat- 
ter object alone. 

It was remarkable, for it was a woman, and the 
fair sex were represented in the mob of military 
men by only a few, of no particular race, mongrels 
who flaunted bare shoulders in ball dresses and 
plumes, while this one, on the contrary, wore a 
black silk domino, or long, capacious cloak with a 
hood. Nevertheless, the grace and beauty of a 
faultless person is not to be entirely eclipsed by 
this masquerading mantle, and the eyes of the 
Austrian seemed to kindle at the sight of this som- 
ber blot on the bedizened multitude. 

On seeing that the hussar had been conducted 
out of the saloon, this woman nodded, made a 
short beckoning sign to him, or the boy, and forth- 
with started to leave the press with a step so agile 
that it confirmed the impression of her youth. Al- 
though the hussar’s long legs moved fleetly, the 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 


335 


woman kept her distance, and turning to the left, 
she came out of the gardens by the corner before 
the Old Louvre Palace. 

Cocagne kept pace with the amorous Austrian, 
but found time, while the latter was enwrapt in the 
chase, to beckon to the prince. This one followed, 
and behind him came the two Frenchmen. Delayed 
by the crowd, they were behindhand when they saw 
the trio speeding on toward the river, but bearing 
to the left. 

When they reached the waterside, they per- 
ceived that the woman had gone on up stream 
» toward the small bridge which supplemented the 
main one at the Cathedral. Here, on either bank, 
were the old houses, mostly demolished in later years, 
where nefarious crafts were carried on while on the 
City Island itself, a cluster of similar structures 
harbored similarly dangerous tenants. 

But little reassured by these dismal haunts of un- 
gilded vice, Minden came to a halt, and those in the 
rear, able to approach through this delay, saw him 
evidently remonstrating with his guide. 

At this moment, the woman, continuing her way 
as if sure of her magnetic attraction, came to a 
pause in the middle of the temporary bridge of 
wood, replaced in our days by an iron suspension 
viaduct. 

Then little used, it was lonely, and at this hour 
the female figure stood isolated, in the wan moon- 
beams. But, with a weird coquettishness she let the 
river breeze disarrange the cowl, and a glimpse was 


336 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 


afforded of a beautiful dark face, while the wind 
pressed the light mantle around her figure and indi- 
cated a contour not to be rivaled by the sirens of 
the gambling-saloons which the Austrian had quit- 
ted for this lodestar. 

Uttering an exclamation of admiration, he ceased 
his expostulations to the boy and bounded on so 
fast that the latter had some difficulty to keep up 
with him. Thus they ascended the bridge approach 
and stepped upon the structure. 

The woman remained in the center, and, on the 
•hussar coming nearer, she suddenly threw off the 
mantle and hood with so violent a gesture that they 
flew over the handrail and floated down upon the 
stream, shadowed at this spot. 

In full career, Otto Minden checked himself — he 
turned pale, and was sobered in an instant. 

“The peasant’s daughter!” he gasped, and felt 
for his sword. 

“And the peasant’s nephew,” added a mocking 
voice as Cocagne sprang past him and ranged him- 
self by his cousin’s side. 

Though he believed they were both armed, that 
would not have daunted him, but a wild panic seized 
him — a cold shudder ran over him, as they say 
occurs to them who receive a warning that their last 
hour has come. He backed a few steps, turned in a 
panic to flee, and found himself barred by the Rus- 
sian prince, who, sword in hand, tranquilly stood in 
the middle of the bridge. Behind him, the two- 
dragoons loomed up, beyond the moonlight, the 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 337 

elder grim, the other with glittering eyes — Boissier 
had also recognized Therese. 

The Red Hussar drew his sword with a trembling 
hand, and tried to assume a calmness belied by his 
pallor and the convulsive twitches of his facial 
muscles. 

The moon shook off the trailing clouds like 
tresses veiling a face, and the scene on the bridge 
was fully lighted up. 

“An ambuscade,” said the Austrian. “I see,’j. and 
his voice shook with rage and terror. 

“ Not the least in the world,” retorted the Rus- 
sian nonchalantly. “A month ago, you promised 
to measure blades with me when the war was over; 
and we entered Paris this morning, the armistice 
was signed yesterday, and I claim my right at pres- 
ent. These persons are simply lookers-on — you 
know them all, now.” 

Hemmed in, the wolf at bay preserved the most 
complete silence. All the sound, indeed, was the 
rushing and gurgling of the stream dashing not 
very roughly against the timbers of the trestlework 
pediments. 

“Prince,” said the Austrian, at length, recovering 
some self-command, “the honor which you confer 
upon me is great; but I must remind your high- 
ness that, though I promised at Troyes to fight in 
duello, it was not with you. I have never injured 
you.” 

“You are mistaken, sir,” said the Russian gravely. 
“You have an offense to account to me for, which 


338 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 


all your blood cannot wash out — for you have in- 
sulted a lady whom I love!” 

“This cannot be, my lord! ” 

“You pressed your suit upon Mdlle. de Saintclair, 
after you were informed by her that she was engaged 
to another, and, farther, you threatened her with 
persecution and with a menace that I should be 
punished for treason in sparing French prisoners, 
unless she bowed to your wishes. Enough, do you 
understand now what you have done when I say 
that Mdlle. de Saintclair will, in a month, be the 
Princess Zodreff?” 

This declaration, spoken in accents of indescrib- 
able scorn, as unexpected as a lightning-stroke, 
threw the hussar into the deepest trepidation. 

“ It little matters,” said he, folding his arms, 
though he still held his sword in the hand now at 
his side, with the blade behind him, “I am not going 
to fight.” 

“You will not fight?” exclaimed the prince, but 
with astonishing calm. 

“Not thus, or here — now.” 

At the same time Boissier, Cocagne, and The- 
rese made a step toward the speaker, but the Rus- 
sian waved them back with alarming quiet. 

“Be it so,” said he. “Gentlemen,” he went on 
to the two officers, “will you be good enough to do 
me the service to guard this man, while I go and 
bring some soldiers to arrest him. Excuse me ask- 
ing this of you, but the nearest station of soldiers is 
close by, and I shall soon return with a corporal's 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 


339 


guard. Indeed, I am very wrong to rob the deaths- 
man of his lawful prey, for this officer ought to be 
hung.” 

“Hang me?” yelled the hussar, in a voice chok- 
ing with rage and affright. 

“As a murderer,” said the prince scornfully; “ I 
wonder I overlooked the crime before. But it did 
not become me, since we served under the same 
colors united, to deliver you to justice. Now that 
the war is finished, I wish you to cease to ^disgrace 
the Allied Armies, and as I am not to punish you 
with my own hand for murdering my kinsman Her- 
mann von Finkinstein, I shall send you to the gal- 
lows to-morrow for the villainy.” 

“But it is false — there are no witnesses — no 
proofs! ” shrieked the man, livid and tormented. 

“The witness summoned — present!” saidCocagne, 
saluting in the soldier’s manner. “I saw you shoot 
the militiaman in the Wood of Soulaines.” 

“And I produce proofs,” said Albert, gravely, 
holding up the pocketbook perforated by the mur- 
derer’s bullet on Hermann's breast. 

On beholding this ensanguined relic, Otto re- 
coiled to the bridge guard-rail, and thrust out his 
right hand to repel a ghastly vision. His eyes opened 
immeasurably, and his hair stood up on his head. 
The avowal which his lips refused to utter might be 
read on his discomposed features. 

“Let us have done,” said the prince, sternly. “If, 
in one minute you are not on guard, I, Boris Wasil- 
ivitz, of Zodreff, whose ancestors fought at the 


340 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 


siege of Kasan beside Ivan the Terrible, I give you 
my word as a nobleman, that I will drive you at the 
sword’s point to the officers of justice.” 

He was pale now, and the white-hot wrath of the 
northerner shone in the clear glance of his steel-blue 
eyes. Otto, no doubt, saw that his case was hope- 
less, for he brought his weapon round in front. 

“Engirt by enemies, I protest that this duel is 
murder,” he said, raising his voice, in the hope per- 
haps to Jdc heard by some passenger, but Cocagne 
knew Paris too well, and that here would be a spot 
without observers. “You force me to fight without 
my having seconds.” 

“Not so. Albert, oblige me by passing over to 
the gentleman’s side,” said the prince without emo- 
tion. “The colonel will have the kindness to assist 
you.” 

With military obedience, the two dragoons exe- 
cuted the maneuver, which placed them so that they 
cut off retreat in one direction, while in the other 
Therese and her cousin stood similarly on guard. 
The Austrian looked to the nearer bank, but it was 
lonely, all life being concentrated in the Palais 
Royal quarter, and both river-sides were hushed and 
deserted. 

“I am waiting,” said the Russian, as he fell upon 
guard 

Minden cast a last look around, like a wolf in a pit- 
fall, but had to defend himself. The blades crossed 
and the fight began, to the high content of Cham- 
poreau, who had regarded the exchange of compli- 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 


341 


ments as so much time wasted. He regretted also 
that the combat was not begun with more solemnity, 
but it was too late, as the antagonists had rushed at 
each other with such fury that the encounter could 
not last long. Indeed, at the third pass, the prince 
was too slow in making a half-circle parade, and 
received a cut across the wrist which gave him such 
pain that he dropped his sword. 

A direct thrust delivered with lightning rapidity 
would have transfixed the Russian had not the 
colonel’s heavy cane beaten down the blade. 

“Not the correct thing,” said the old dragoon 
tranquilly; “no stabbing a disarmed adversary, 
mark that.” 

Calmly smiling, the prince let Albert bind up his 
wound in a handkerchief which Therese promptly 
held out. She had not said a word, and even in this 
humane act kept her burning eyes fastened on the 
victor in this first encounter. Happy to have come 
out so well, the latter was sheathing his saber when 
Albert exclaimed: 

“Stay, I am expecting you to cross steel with 
me. We are all to have a turn, I think?” 

“I have no quarrel with others,” returned Minden, 
with reluctance at having to suppress his thoughts. 

“But they have with you,” returned the cornet 
fiercely, as he picked up the weapon the prince had 
let fall; “for instance I have an old account to set- 
tle with the kidnapper of young girls, whom I swore 
to brand as such with a slash across the face unless 

he stood to fight with me.’* 

22 


\ 


342 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 


'*1 am not fresh; I have the right to refuse another 
fight at present.” 

“I allow you five minutes to breathe while the 
prince's wound is dressed.” 

But the Russian’s hurt was already staunched. 

“I advise you to accept this challenge,” he coldly 
said to the hussar; “in the first place you may 
escape by getting wounded like me, and if on the 
other hand he kills you, you will spite the gallows.” 

“I agree,” muttered the Austrian; “may I at least 
hope that with this man out of my way, it will be 
clear?” 

“No, for you must kill me, too,” said the colonel, 
while the mien of Cocagne and the woman was no 
more encouraging. 

“Very handsome! This is French gallantry! a 
regular battue, only there is but one head of game 
and many hunters, I see. I suppose I am to cope 
with this young go-between of yours, too,” he 
sneered, with a glance at Cocagne. 

“With me?” said Cocagne; “I can handle a foil, 
at least.” 

And with me,” spoke Therese for the first time; 
“you rode down upon the ambulances and you 
sabred the nurses — with pistol in hand I received 
you, then — with pistol I am ready for you, after 
these gentlemen have had their precedence.” 

“You will do the knave too much honor,” said 
the prince; “never fear — -he will be dead before it 
comes the lady’s turn.” 

“We shall see about that,” yelled the hussar, fly- 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 


343 


ing like a panther at the colonel, whom he chose 
from his having a cane, not a sword. He cleft this 
stick with a cut, and would have followed up with a 
blow on the defenseless head, but the old dragoon 
had no longer the agility of youth and his foot 
slipped. Light as a wild cat, the hussar leaped on 
the shoulder of the stumbling man, used it as a ped- 
estal to reach the rail, a flat wooden bar, and with 
great fleetness ran on this height past Cocagne 
and the woman, whom the movement took by sur- 
prise. His course was toward the left bank, and he 
had all chances of attaining it. 

He looked back with delight, and was about to 
leap down and continue the successful flight on the 
flooring, when this movement exposed his face to 
the group from which he had escaped. He saw the 
moonbeam glint on the brass barrel of a pistol in 
the girl’s unfaltering hand — the flash was instantane- 
ous, and, while he was involuntarily raising his arm 
to cover his eyes, the bullet struck between them. 
Reeling on the narrow footing, he uttered a howl of 
agony, and fell from the shock into the Seine. The 
muddy, yellow waters opened with a dull splash, 
and closed, frothing over the head of the assassin — 
Hermann was avenged. 

“Only one man ever laid a rough hand on me,” 
exclaimed Therese in a thrilling voice and with 
flashing eyes, her contained feeling finding vent, 
“and he is no more!” 

“Well done!” roared the colonel. “You are born 
to be a soldier’s wife — ” and he darted a significant 


344 


THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE. 


look at Albert, who sprang to the girl’s side, for she 
seemed to be swooning after this outburst and the 
fatigue of the recent days in the field. 


EPILOGUE. 


Two months subsequent to this tragic scene, on a 
lovely June morning, two weddings were celebrated 
at the same hour in the aristocratic church of St. 
Thomas d’Aquinas. Seldom had the fashionable 
parish gathered a more elegant congregation under 
its marble ceiling. On one side of the nave flocked 
the representatives of old families of France, who 
wished to hail with their presence the union of 
Mdlle. de Saintclair, sole heiress of the Countess de 
Muire, with a man of her choice; he was there, sup- 
ported by the dignitaries of the Czar, the Austrian 
Emperor and the King of Prussia — Boris Zodreff, 
typifying the East, victorious by its arms, but con- 
quered by the gentle graces of the civilizing West. 
New France was pictured in Albert Boissier, in the 
dragoon’s coat which had seen the fire of battle, 
amid these relics of the past, and the world of money 
had seized the occasion of a marriage in the banker’s 
family to mingle among the nobles. He led to the 
altar the daughter of the Champagne peasant who 
had so well defended their home and his country. 

With her calm and robust beauty, Therese was 
a personification of the race which might receive 
as meet homage the chorus of admiration for her 
heroism under the cannonade and the fusillade. 

One of their missiles had struck down Father 

345 


34 ^ 


EPILOGUE. 


Lecomte at the battle of Laon, into which he had 
valiantly led the last company of his home-raised 
legion, and he could not give away the bride: but 
the Parisian Democracy was to the front in the per- 
son of Auguste Cocagne. The affair was a little too 
solemn for one of his merry disposition, and he de- 
clined being best man. But he witnessed the cere- 
mony by the side of Colonel Champoreau. The old 
dragoon, wishful like him to keep in the background, 
looked on tenderly from the rear, in company with 
the heroic boy, to whom he had taken a liking since 
he saved his life at Eclaron. The event in which 
they had been actors on the river bridge, had ce- 
mented true friendship between them, and the old 
commandant was vexed that the boy should renounce 
the military career, for which he had an aptitude, 
when he predicted to him a brilliant future. But 
the sharp drummer-boy comprehended that the era 
of warfare had closed, and it was not with much sor- 
row that he ratified an engagement with the Russian 
prince to go with him into the steppes. 

Our brave Champoreau was forced, therefore, 
to concentrate all his affection upon Boissier, whose 
comrade and friend he remained after his marriage. 
He was the intended godfather for their first child, 
but the valorous soldier, who had braved death on 
all the battlefields of Europe, was slain at Waterloo, 
in the following year, while leading his dragoons 
upon a square of English infantry. 

His faithful Ratibal, whom the peace of 1814 
had restored to liberty, and who also took up the 


EPILOGUE. 


347 


sword again during the short campaign in Belgium, 
saw the old colonel fall by his side, and piously 
brought home his cross of the Legion of Honor. 

Boissier, unable to join his regiment during the 
Hundred Days, sent in his resignation after the 
great defeat; and he welcomed the devoted orderly 
of his heroic commander. This humble survivor of 
those great wars, in which the Youngest Soldier had 
worthily wielded the sword of his father during its 
final battles, lived many years in the house of Bois- 
sier, who became one of the wealthiest bankers in 
Paris, and would lull his master’s son to sleep with 
tales of the legendary era. 

Cocagne followed the brilliant fortunes of Prince 
Zodreff in Russia, requiring nothing but to complete 
his education to succeed in that realm where French 
wit is cultivated as a choice exotic. After some 
years he became naturalized, and at the end of 
Alexander’s reign, the Drummer of Montmirail was 
appointed captain in the Caucasus, where he charmed 
the Tiflis garrison with his jests, of a Parisian flavor. 
Prosperity nowise spoiled his excellent character, 
and he never forgot old friends, whom he was 
delighted to greet at least on one visit at St. Peters- 
burg. Boissier kept the promise given to Boris, to 
pass a winter in his palace. He was received like a 
brother recovered after long parting. 

The conversation of the two friends dispelled 
the only cloud which darkened sometimes the happi- 
ness of the ex-cornet of dragoons. 

One evening, when Albert brought up the sub- 


348 


EPILOGUE. 


ject of the tragedy of the last day of March, 1814, 
the prince said in a grave tone: 

“Never more mention that villain, Albert. Your 
wife was the executioner designated by heavenly 
justice, for the meanest of his crimes was aimed at 
lives of her sex. He was worse than a murderer; 
he betrayed those whose bread he had once broken. 
He sold the secret of the resting place where you 
and Colonel Champoreau bestowed the Countess de 
Muire and the charming girl who is my darling 
wife. I ought to have slain him, with my left hand, 
but I knew not that misdeed, then, though I had 
saved Cecile by a miracle, thanks to your Therese in- 
forming me in time of the treachery. But heaven 
knew, and heaven^s hand directed that pistol-shot. 
So ever fall the justice of heaven!’' 


THE END. 


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